Clash of Thrones
by Revan5
Summary: 5 years after the Organization has fallen, the world has dramatically changed. Miria has been anointed Queen of Toulouse, Raki and Claire have married and become parents, while the continent's Great War has ended in a victory for the legendary silver-eyed empress, Katarzyna Romanowa. Yet events are in motion that threaten to end the peace and create a new clash of thrones...
1. Chapter 1: Pirates and Problems

**Clash of Thrones**

**By Revan5**

* * *

_The Organization has been gone for five long years. Priscilla and the Destroyer have been exterminated. We thought an era of peace was at hand, and with the Organization, Yoma and Awakened all gone, we felt secure the knowledge of partial awakening was safe. We shared this knowledge to save the lives of our new comrades. We thought everyone was gone but us… but we were wrong. One last loyalist remained; the Organization's secret warrior, Marcella. Twin sister to Miata, she was absolutely loyal to her masters and trained to replace Rafaela, and in her cunning she waited until we were relaxed to strike._

_Marcella killed our comrade Rachel, sprang an Organization agent from prison, kidnapped Audrey and fled by ship before we could stop her. We feared the knowledge would tip the war decisively and threaten our very independence. When that did not soon happen, we turned complacent. In the absence of Yoma, war and politics reemerged on the island and soon distracted us. We were pledged to protect humanity, yet how could we protect humanity from itself? Many of us turned north in disgust, to Pieta, where we attempted to live apart from the war-torn politics of the island. For a time it seemed like this could go on forever._

_When Rabona itself came under siege by a ruthless warlord named King Charles, Phantom Miria prodded us into acting. We saved the city, and in return, Miria took command of the Rabonese military. Two and a half years after the Organization's annihilation, Rabona finally emerged the war's victor at the battle of Kerouac. It was in the glowing aftermath of our triumph when we finally shocked to learn what Marcella had wrought. The alliance backing the Organization had disappeared, replaced by an empire under the rule of a silver-eyed empress._

_It turned out the very first person saved by Audrey's knowledge was the future empress, Katarzyna Romanowa. Romanowa's rise to power was on the back of her intellect and use of claymores and soldiers together, not on Awakened super weapons. With her rise to power has come the rise to power of our kind. Partial awakening has made us stronger and more stable, but also able to reproduce with only our kind, not humans. With this development comes talk of claymores being a new "master race". I find this disturbing. We are a race not meant to exist, combining both the best and worst features of humans and Dragonkin. I hear however that some members of the silver-eyed elite in the Romanow Empire like to believe in such horrible things._

_Katarzyna Romanowa came to Toulouse over a year ago and insisted she was our friend and ally. Many here in Rabona and Toulouse want to believe her. After all, three and a half years after the Organization's demise, her military forced the Dragonkin-led Grand Alliance to sue for peace. I am not so sanguine. This empress rose to power by betraying her superiors, utterly wiping out the royal families, including even the innocent babies. People like to point out she has abolished slavery and serfdom, but does this really mean we can trust her? Although there is only one world and many thrones within it, hers has grown in power beyond the point of restraint. What will happen if there's a new clash of thrones and Rabona becomes involved? Can we survive one way or another, for or against this silver-eyed empress? I fear we may find out far too soon.-**Anastasia Galacon, former 7th Warrior of the Organization**_

* * *

**Chapter 1:**

**Pirates and Problems**

_"In the practical art of war, the best thing of all is to take the enemy's country whole and intact; to shatter and destroy it is not so good. So, too, it is better to recapture an army entire than to destroy it, to capture a regiment, a detachment or a company entire than to destroy them. Hence to fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting."**-Sun Tzu, the Art of War**_

* * *

"What a sight," Raki murmured, looking out of his home's master bedroom.

He was looking out on Rabona from the open window in his home's master bedroom. Below, the street was just beginning to stir to life after the dangerous night. In the distance, he heard the barking of dogs, though too distant to bother him. At first glance Rabona seemed to have a very similar look throughout. All the roofs of the homes, manors and churches were covered by clay red tiles. Similarly, due to an ancient decree by the Rabona Orthodox Church, the only buildings allowed in town had to have brick exteriors. Yet, beyond this uniformity lay a city full of wildly varying architecture. As the sun's rays lit up the city skyline, a bewildering array of buildings became obvious.

Rabona was full, as it always had been, of church spires, towers and steeples. Yet it was also full of new manors, some built with grand towers, others with gabled roofs, and several, which Raki knew belonged to foreign merchants, sported beautiful domes and half domes. Further south, the city's immense fortified walls dominated the landscape, though lately the skyline was overtaking even this and growing higher still. Docks, warehouses, the masts of ships and loading cranes dotted the river bisecting Rabona to his right. Beyond that Raki glimpsed a tall bronze statue of two winged angels towering over a square lined with many of the city's less well-built blockhouses. He secretly winced, for he suspected his own was not much better.

It was perhaps not the nicest of homes in Rabona, nor did it stand out much on its street in southern Rabona. At three stories, it was no taller or shorter than the others on their narrow, cobblestone street. It was however quite warm in the winter, and with its high ceilings, the place was relatively comfortable during Rabona's hot summer days. Raki glanced around the master bedroom and sighed; it was still quite plain. Decorating the room were two dressers, a new-fangled full-length mirror in one corner, a small end table near the bed, and atop it, a shiny new wooden clock that counted time by hours. The floors were unfinished oak, upon which sat the room's only bed, a huge, white canopy bed that hid its occupant from the world. In it was some ruffled, thick blue mattresses, and emerging from them was a single woman's head with short blond hair. Raki smiled as Claire continued to sleep, oblivious to the world.

That didn't last long, for a moment later the echoes of trumpeters practicing invaded their home and brought Claire to bury her head underneath a large pillow.

"Those damn trumpeters are ruining my mornings," Claire grumbled.

Raki heard the echoing of trumpets once more bouncing down the city's streets, through its alleyways, and off many of the nearby church steeples.

"Would you shut the window," Claire snapped, exasperated at the echoing noise.

Raki found the window had jammed and was proving difficult to un-jam without wrecking the entire frame. Meanwhile the noise of cavalrymen patrolling past the house in the street below was adding to the aggravation.

"Raki," Claire snapped, her voice still muffled by the pillow over her head.

"There," he sighed, exasperated, as the window finally un-jammed and fell shut. "It's not that bad, Claire. Besides you should see all the flags and pennants flying. It's quite the sight."

Claire grumbled back, kicking her feet under the covers, "I don't care if it's Miria's coronation or not. I get little enough sleep without people making things worse."

'Hopeless like always,' Raki thought. Claire was never one for pomp and ceremony, or much for rank and hierarchy like Miria. It didn't help she had three young silver-eyed children to deal with, all of whom had far too much energy for their own good. Teresa in particular seemed to enjoy testing her mother's patience.

Raki turned back to the beautiful sight of Rabona's skyline at dawn. All over, atop church steeples, manor towers, the fortified wall and draped from balconies were flags and pennants of all shapes and colors. One of those flying was the Kingdom of Toulouse's new national flag. It was a rich navy blue, with a four-pointed white star at its center. The resident directly across the street had draped this flag and the new royal standard. This was far flashier, and was quartered with two distinctive family coats of arms. Miria's was of a golden, winged sphinx upon a blue background, while her husband Cid's coat of arms consisted of a golden fortress upon a regal red background. Each design was quartered twice, in opposing corners.

Raki remarked at all the flags, "You know, I never thought Miria would become Queen of Toulouse, of the whole island I mean. Five years ago she was just as dirt poor and uninterested in politics as the rest of us."

"Miria was never 'uninterested' in politics, and the only reason she's on the throne is you put her there," Claire pointed out, her head emerging from under the pillow.

Raki had indeed nominated Miria to be queen, though only a constitutional one. He'd originally been opposed, but then, through a series of traumatic events he never wished to relive, he'd felt it was the only way to unify the island. In the end, it had only been the reassurance of Miria's steady hand on the throne that had convinced some to give elections a try.

"If I hadn't who else would you have trusted filling the power vacuum?"

"I'm not complaining," Claire pointed out.

Raki noticed a blond, long-haired man pacing a distant tower that rose from atop a fine urban manor. Atop the tower were three different flags. One was the royal standard of Phantom Miria and Cid's new royal House of Malaga. The next was the blue and white star flag of the Kingdom of Toulouse. But the last flag caught the eye like nothing else. It featured a double-headed, golden eagle, wings outstretched but with no talons, all upon a satin black background. It was the flag of the world's greatest power, the Romanow Empire. The irony was it was a power that in some ways only existed because of the events they'd set in motion in Toulouse.

"I see Vice Ambassador Lazarov is up early," Raki noted. "Miria invited all of the Romanow dignitaries I trust?"

"So I've heard," Claire sighed, noncommittal and clearly a little tired.

His wife laid on her back and looked over, "Even the empress herself was invited."

Raki whistled, "They invited Katarzyna Romanowa to the coronation?"

"So what if they did? She's not coming," Claire stated with certainty.

Katarzyna Romanowa had not earned a great deal of respect from Claire, but she was a warrior that was impossible to ignore. Claire mostly respected warriors either out of friendship or because of their overwhelming fighting prowess. Katarzyna Romanowa however, while surely a decent fighter, had not risen to the top on her brawn. She'd risen to become an empress of what had been the alliance of states backing the Organization because quite simply she was the most dangerous general the world had.

"Well at least everyone we know in the empire is coming," Raki shrugged.

Claire pursed her lips, "Aren't you forgetting someone?"

"I don't think so," Raki replied, quite sure as he glanced away from the window.

"Have you forgotten all about Dietrich?"

Raki frowned, "Dietrich's not coming to the coronation?"

Claire sighed, "Her letter said she had to hunt down some pirates."

Raki blinked in disbelief, "She's skipping the coronation to hunt pirates for the empress?"

* * *

The voices haunted her like they always did.

"How can you serve someone who murdered children?"

"But there's more to her than just that," Dietrich responded.

"Murder is still murder no matter how well-intentioned."

Dietrich tried to respond, "Yes, but—"

Another female voice voice butted in, "How could you leave your friends?"

Almost concurrently another female voice interjected, "You made a choice to serve a murderer, Dietrich."

"I can still leave and come back to Rabona," Dietrich promised the voice.

"And what will you do when the day comes when your new mistress turns her arms on your old friends?"

The crash of cannon fire jolted Dietrich's eyes wide open. Her eyes found a watery world around her, much of the sea being shrouded in fog. Dietrich realized she'd fallen half asleep upon the ship's railing in her drowsiness and begun to daydream. The sound of fabric flapping in the wind drew her eyes upwards from where she now stood. Above the warship's large stern a large flag flew. It was colored satin black for its background color, while in contrast a huge, double-headed golden eagle with a tail but no legs, its wings outstretched, dominated her attention. It was the flag of the the country to which Dietrich had pledged her service.

It was a choice no one back home in Toulouse had understood. Claire, Helen, Raki and the others could not see what she saw in her position. She had the potential to do far more for the people of Toulouse and the world in the Romanow Empire than in a strategic backwater like the Kingdom of Toulouse. Rabona to them was the world; Dietrich knew otherwise.

The ships was moving at good speed despite the fog, with the wake of the ship producing little eddies as it went along as she watched from the stern.

A fluid, baritone male voice interrupted her contemplation, "Beautiful isn't it?"

Dietrich glanced over to find a man of only modest proportions. Despite this his uniform and stance commanded attention and demonstrated his authority in no uncertain terms. He wore a splendid red, gold and black captain's coat, a black and gold-braid bicorn hat, and moved like a man who knew his position in the world. His curly black locks seemed out of place on a man who looked otherwise spotless.

Dietrich greeted him, "Captain Ferrara, I see you've been busy with cannon exercises."

Ferrara was only modestly taller than her, and he smelled like a combination of fresh clothes and burnt gunpowder. Dietrich had meant to speak with him earlier in the day, but she could not abide the stench of gunpowder nor did she enjoy being around weapons that used it.

"Hrabia," Ferrara addressed her melodramatically, bending down on one knee to kiss her gloved hand, "I am honored to have you aboard. I assume your quarters were to your liking?"

Dietrich's face was a mask; in truth the ship smelled too much of unwashed men and gutted fish, and her quarters paled in comparison to the luxury of her personal manor in the empire's capital of Visegrad. However, she was not about let on to all of that.

"They're fine," Dietrich managed.

Ferrara favored her with a grin, "I sense that you are not fond of my ship."

Dietrich eyebrows arched, "When did I complain about your ship?"

Ferrara smiled, "You didn't, but your eyes betray you, my dear Countess."

Dietrich reassured the captain, "It's not your ship I'm not fond of; the CSS Cesarski is a fine ship. I just do not enjoy gunpowder weapons. They don't see very chivalrous to me."

Dietrich pointed to one of the warship's many cannon. She would not admit it to Ferrara, but the warship had impressed her from the beginning. The CSS Cesarski's deck buzzed with activity behind them, and up above amongst the three masts and sails. It was a 36-gun galleon, the latest in naval warfare, and capable of engaging all but large warships in a battle. It made up for that, she had been told, through its better handling, smaller crew needed and greater speed, making her an ideal independent warship. Or so Ferrara had claimed.

Ferrara eyebrows arched, "Excuse me for saying this, Your Grace, but when I was told to expect an Imperial Emisssary, you were not the kind of emissary I was expecting."

Dietrich turned and gave him a warning look, "Why is that?"

Captain Ferrara shrugged and held out his hands, "How can I say this tactfully? Cesarzowa Katarzyna is known for many things, but she does she seem to have any qualms about using gunpowder weapons. How then is it you dislike the weapons she favors but are still entrusted to represent her here?"

Dietrich tapped the ship's railing, "I was originally His Imperial Majesty's emissary to the Cesarzowa. It was something of a joint appointment by their Imperial Majesties."

"Ah," Ferrara quietly acknowledged.

Wenceslaus Romanow, the new silver-eyed husband of Katarzyna Romanowa, was both de facto co-sovereign with Katarzyna and already famous for his fondness of a more chivalrous age. While Dietrich admired the spirit, she was fairly certain the only place where that age existed was in the mind of the emperor and his idealistic supporters.

Dietrich asked, "Why were you doing gunnery practice this early?"

"Because the pirate, Zach Dempsey was seen not more than an hour's sailing from here yesterday," a silver-eyed warrior interrupted.

The male warrior was athletic and lean, kept his blond hair short and well-trimmed, and had the nose and narrow eyes of someone of Siyamese descent. He wore the gray and gold uniform of an Imperial Marine, and unlike Dietrich was armed with two pistols, a pair of what looked to be naphtha grenades, two duratium short swords, a pair of daggers, and had what appeared to be throwing knives on one sleeve. He made a very intimidating figure.

Ferrara gestured to the new arrival, "Your Grace, this is Lieutenant Commander Wen Jintao. He's commander of marines on board."

"Pleased to meet you," Dietrich said, holding out her hand.

She had, after all, only boarded the ship that very morning.

Wen Jintao did not return her smile or meet her attempted handshake. The smile that had graced Ferrara's face above his chiseled jaw faded away upon seeing this. Dietrich noticed that silver-eyed man was giving her a rather mocking smirk. She turned her gaze away from him and back to the captain.

Ferrara looked as if he regretted something, "We ran across several fishermen stranded in a dinghy. They say a pirate ship attacked their vessel in these waters not more than a day ago. I intend to be ready when we meet him."

Dietrich knew where she was; thousands of miles south of Rabona, so far, that in fact she was in the southern hemisphere and not the northern one. The Ashen Isles were located just northwest of the the world's massive main continent. They were not far offshore, but had been far enough the Romanow Empire had lost control of them as the empress had put down revolts and repulsed the invading Grand Alliance elsewhere. Though there was no proof, there'd been rumors the isles might not have broken free spontaneously. Just one more reason she was here, reporting on things personally to the imperial family.

Dietrich looked around at the CSS Cesarski's crew before asking, "The Cesarzowa will be glad to hear when the pirate Zach Dempsey is captured. As she was happy to hear the fleet recaptured the Ashen Isles from the separatists."

Jintao hissed, "She had better after half the fleet got destroyed following her coup."

Dietrich reprimanded him, "How dare you—"

Jintao kept up the astonishing stream of insults, "Oh yes, how dare I, when your darling Cesarzowa ignored our plight to deal with sixteen different aristocratic rebellions she caused by killing off the royal families. Every damn distant relation thought he or she was heir to something; it was like throwing 160 roosters into a single cockfight. You know what happened to our fleet, the grandest and greatest in the world, while that happened? It tore itself apart! Some were for your bloody Cesarzowa, some were for the royalists, and some were traitorous dogs who defected to the Bretonese and Haaraleenese rather than stay. For someone who's an Imperial Emissary you can't even speak Comnenian with the right accent."

"That's because I'm not Comnenian," Dietrich snapped, losing her patience.

Jintao flicked some hair away from one eye and snarkily remarked, "What are you, just another Asturian pretending she's Comnenian to raise her rank?"

Captain Ferrara interjected, "Gods, man, are you trying to get your head chopped off? See to your marines! What are the rest of you looking at? Get back to work!"

Jintao turned with a disgusted look and walked over to a group of marines practicing their gunnery on the foredeck. Dietrich only just realized nearly everyone within earshot was not so subtly listening in to the entire conversation when suddenly an entire block of the nearest crew turned sheepishly away from her. Ferrara paced to the railing and those further away suddenly turned to their task with renewed vigor. Dietrich got the impression Jintao had mounted the entire affront as theater for the ship's crew.

Ferrara surprised her by grasping her gloved hand and kissing it, "Hrabia, I would ask for leniency regarding Wen. I know what he's said ought to earn him a—"

Dietrich's mind was not on what Ferrara was saying; she was more concerned about whether she was a target for anti-Romanow rage. She was not terribly surprised there were still some, including warriors, who were not exactly enamored of Romanow rule. After the Organization's fall, the Alliance of Nations had nearly collapsed, with the massive Bengali Empire falling apart and leaving the alliance. That had left the massive Kingdom of Comnenia as the dominant nation within the alliance.

When the Allied Army's top commanders reached the opinion that it was the incompetence of the royals costing them victory in the Great War, a coup was hatched. They presumed that Romanowa, their best general, would play the part of figurehead Supreme Allied Commander in the new regime that would follow royals' annihilation. The plan was for a council of top officers to actually call the shots. Dietrich almost pitied their naivety. Katarzyna Romanowa had been continually underestimated by enemy generals who thought a female could not lead anyone. She was also well-educated and intimately familiar with court politics. But the one thing everyone missed was her claim to the Comnenian throne.

As it happened, Katarzyna Romanowa was the great-granddaughter of King Augustyn IV, who 70 years prior been deposed by his younger brother, Stanislaus II. Augustyn had a daughter, Augustyna, who survived and went on to have children. One of those children was Katarzyna's father, Bernard, who had disappeared, leaving Katarzyna the sole heir to Augustyn's claim to the Comnenian throne. Legally her line had been barred from the inheritance, but then again, Stanislaus hadn't exactly had a right to the throne when he'd taken it. Thus when she'd been named Supreme Allied Commander, Katarzyna took advantage of the emergency to secure her position. She pressed her claim to the Comnenian throne, declared herself an empress of a new, unified empire, and dared anyone, including her would-be superiors, to defy her.

Those that had defied her had either lost their lives or fled into exile, such was her skill on the battlefield. The new country may have been called the Romanow Empire, but it was truly a Comnenian empire. This had not gone down well in some places, which was probably why a non-Comnenian warrior like Wen Jintao was causing Dietrich trouble.

Dietrich had been lost in these thoughts when a shout shook her alert.

"Captain," a sailor shouted from high above, "unknown ship at 10 o'clock!"

She glanced up to see a sailor in the crow's nest pointing.

Ferrara raced to the portside railing, took out his spyglass, and looked in the direction the sailor in the crow's nest was pointing. Dietrich noticed that the fog of the early morning had mostly disappeared, giving a wide field of view all around. Dietrich squinted and made out a sail on the horizon.

She stood next to Captain Ferrara and asked, "Is that him?"

Ferrara murmured, "Oh it's Dempsey alright. The scum is flying a skull and crossbones flag so large I can see it from here."

Dietrich frowned, "Why isn't he turning around and fleeing?"

Ferrara, his voice low, cursed, "Bastardo. That's not any ordinary pirate sloop. That's a 48-gun man o'war, and he's heading straight for us."

"Sound the call to action," Ferrara bellowed, "I want every man ready for boarding!"

A pair of drummers beat out a military call to action as marines and sailors scrambled to their stations, some grabbed guns, grenades and swords from the armory. Other sailors began spreading sand around the deck, and Dietrich knew from personal experience why. It was for getting traction even when the deck was covered in blood.

Dietrich clutched Ferrara's left arm, "We can't fight that, we're outgunned!"

Ferrara shrugged off her hand, "Never tell me what I can't fight, Your Grace. I'll be damned if I'm going to flee from a pirate. I suggest you get yourself better armed."

With that Captain Ferrara hurried down the steps of the CSS Cesarski's sterncastle and onto the main deck, supervising the preparations for battle.

"Merde," Dietrich cursed.

For the second time in three years, she was about to be in a naval battle.

* * *

Raki remarked while still looking out his bedroom window on Rabona's skyline, "I wonder how that pirate-hunting is going for Dietrich."

He noticed Claire glance over from over his shoulder.

Claire shrugged, "I'm sure she's doing fine."

Raki noticed a blond-haired woman in a fine red dress was busily kissing Vice Ambassador Lazarov upon his manor tower's balcony a few blocks away. Even with his prodigious eyesight, Raki couldn't quite make the details. The woman seemed vaguely familiar to him however.

"Claire, does that woman Lazarov kissing look familiar to you?"

Claire sighed and clambered out of bed wearing only her white nightgown. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and looked only briefly.

"Claire, you didn't look," Raki grumbled.

"Raki, you need to get out of this spying habit," Claire reprimanded him. "What Lazarov does with a woman is none of your business. I'd much rather we had some fun."

"Ahh," Raki moaned softly.

Claire's hands had grasped his manhood and were delicately sliding up it as she kissed him affectionately on the neck.

Claire mischievously asked, "Why don't you join me in bed?"

Claire was never one for saying many words when it came to romance, but she also never failed to get him in the mood. Raki turned around and grabbed her by the waist with his right hand and pulled her head close with his left. Claire kissed him with a passion and then surprised him by jumping onto him, her legs wrapping tightly against his waist. Raki laid Claire onto the white bed even as her legs remained locked around him. Almost frantic with passion, he lifted up her distracting nightgown and pushed forward.

Claire's legs tightened painfully against him as she let out an involuntary moan while Raki grunted both in pain and pleasure. Her legs were tightening around his waist quite painfully, getting tighter with every thrust. This was the one drawback to having a claymore for a wife; when in the throes of passion, Claire could give him just as much pain as pleasure. Still Raki kept going, ignoring the pain and his shortening of breath. He grabbed Claire's hands and spread her arms to either side and held them there as they kept going. If he hadn't, he knew from experience he was liable to have bleeding scratches all up and down his back. Again and again he kept at it until Claire's legs grasped much too hard.

"Oww, oww, oww, Claire, stop it, you're hurting me," Raki gasped, finally pulling free.

Raki laid down onto the bed, panting and wincing in pain, and for a merciful few seconds he was able to gather his breath. Claire had other ideas, for moments later she was sitting atop his waist and then leaned forward for a kiss. Claire could act cool for awhile, but once she was in the mood it was hard to get her to stop.

"Claire, buttercup," Raki gasped, still in pain, "can you give me a minute?"

"I'll make it up to you later," Claire promised, shaking her short hair out of her eyes.

Without even a hesitation, she fell upon him with fervor. Raki pushed himself up against the wooden back of the bed when Claire's eyes turned golden and snake-like. Like many claymores, Claire's yoma energy use often spiked involuntarily from the pleasure. This he was used to seeing with Claire. Suddenly though she pinned his hands down to the bed and in almost animal-like fashion threw herself at him, her body rubbing up and down his with each motion.

She grasped at him as if it were her last day alive, her passion enveloping him in heat and pleasure that finally began to overwhelm the pain. The bed literally shook from her efforts, smacking repeatedly against the wall and shaking. Within moments Raki was so distracted he forgot about his pain. The pleasure arced up his spine again, and again, overwhelming the pain, until finally, almost spent, he could hold back no longer.

Claire's gasped, her breath coming in short moments, her back arched in pleasure until finally the moment passed. Claire soon pulled off of him, not even breathing hard, and laid down beside him, her back to him. Raki reached around and cupped her breasts with his left arm. Claire let out a happy sigh at his touch.

Raki whispered, "I thought you weren't interested in trying for a baby so soon after Dominique , no?"

Claire looked over her shoulder at him and rolled her eyes, "I'm not giving up my fun because of that. Besides, it's not possible to conceive another baby when I'm on top."

"Ah," Raki murmured.

There were moments when he realized Helen was on to something about Claire deluding herself. He was fairly certain it didn't matter which position she used, but he was not about to tell Claire that. Besides, he was a big believer in having a large, merry family, and if Claire's delusions furthered that, he wouldn't object. Claire was finding children very stressful, so he could forgive her lack of desire for more at the moment.

'With any luck we'll have another soon enough,' Raki happily thought.

Claire grasped his hand cupping her left breast and whispered, "Raki, I want you to get me something."

"Anything for you, dear," Raki agreed, enjoying her warmth against his.

"I want you to hire a maidservant to look after the house," Claire demanded.

'Boy I really walked into that one,' Raki thought.

"Claire, you know we can't afford that on my salary," Raki objected.

Claire got up, throwing his hand off, and more forcefully made her point sitting up, "You said you would do anything for me. I can't deal with the house the way it is, Raki. The twins are always wrecking something and it's getting dirtier every day. At least ask Helen to pay for one next time you see her."

"It took a moment for this to sink in on him before he objected, "Oh no, no, there is no way you are getting me to ask Helen to pay for a maidservant. I don't need anyone's charity."

Helen was part owner, along with Miria and a host of others, of a hugely lucrative series of diamond mines near Pieta that had fueled Rabona's explosive growth and new wealth. She could probably afford five hundred maids and call it cheap, but Raki had no intention of relying upon her charity.

Claire's temper flared, "This is not about your damn pride!"

"This isn't about my pride," Raki snapped, defensive.

This as it turned out was the exact wrong thing to say to Claire.

Claire got out of bed and stood up, irate, "I do everything for you. I wear dresses to the Parlement even if I hate them because you asked me to, I went through two labors for you, I deal with the kids all day while you're at work, and now, when I ask for one measly thing, you're too embarrassed to do it! I've had it up to here with giving and giving!"

Raki got up and in his best apologetic tone, "Claire, you know why—"

Claire crossed her arms, "I told you I'd have been much happier and felt better with the kids not in Rabona. You insisted—"

Raki interjected, "Claire, we are not doing this. We are not going to get into an argument about one of us somehow being at fault for the kids being taken hostage. You know me. Do you think I would have insisted on coming to Rabona had I known that was going to happen? We're probably safer here than anywhere else in Toulouse now that Miria's on the throne."

Deep down he wondered if maybe female claymores just were not suited to the stress and wearying routine of domestic life in a city. Claire certainly would have been happier out on the road with him, ignoring the politics of the wider world while killing Yoma and Awakened. Unfortunately for her, she'd also convinced him to get the operation to become a claymore, which had resulted in three other individuals now being involved. A life of danger and adventure might have suited a claymore couple without children; it did not however suit a couple with three young silver-eyed children.

Some of Claire's pent-up frustration visibly left her face as his words sunk in, though she said nothing in return. Instead Claire walked to the master bathroom, and slammed the door. Raki got out of bed and knocked on the door.

"Honey, can we talk?"

Claire stubbornly shot back, "No, now get dressed. We still have to be ready to go to the coronation in an hour!"

Raki sighed and wondered if married life might not be more stressful than war.

* * *

Dietrich could her heart beat louder and louder, almost in step with each beat of the CSS Cesarski's drum. She was standing upon the stern of the ship, which was heading straight towards an even bigger pirate vessel, now only a half mile distant. Up above she could see armed sailors with muskets taking up positions atop the wooden scaffolding holding the ship's billowing, great sails. Whatever Captain Ferrara had planned, it did not appear to be a bluff. Ordinarily she was a picture of calm before a battle, but right now Dietrich's heart was racing. She had come to fear naval battles ever since she'd nearly drowned during the first one she'd been in. It was one thing to fight sword to sword, depending on one's skill for survival, and quite another to realize it required only one cannonball or bullet to swiftly to end up just as dead as any normal man.

Ferrara appeared before her, holding out a gun towards her with his right hand.

"You're going to need this," he stated flatly, before rushing off.

Dietrich held the gun in one hand, almost dreading the weapon. It featured a single metal barrel, a fine maple grip, a large trigger underneath, and it had an almost wheel-like firing mechanism. By the looks of things the gun, called a pistol if she remembered correctly, had already been loaded with a shot.

'What honor can there be in such a weapon?'

Dietrich was lost in her thoughts until she was jolted to attention.

"All men to their stations," a junior officer bellowed somewhere further up the ship's deck. Everywhere men were rushing to be readied, with dozens of marines dressed in grey and armed with muskets, short swords and even a crude grenade rushing up from belowdeck. They formed a line on the ship's port side, loading their guns, while the cannon crews were frantically preparing. Most alarmingly of all, Dietrich spotted sailors spreading more sand over the deck.

Dietrich asked a passing marine, "Why are they doing that again?"

"The captain expects more casualties than normal, Your Grace," the big man replied, "the deck will be too slick otherwise once the battle starts."

He left, leaving Dietrich to murmur, "Lovely."

She decided to head up onto the mast, where the chances of a cannonball beheading her or taking a leg off were less. Dietrich would also be able to board the enemy ship much more to her liking from up high. Just before she clambered up the ropes, Dietrich spotted a package of throwing knives, which she strapped onto her arms and legs. She may have had only one shot with her gun, but she was not going to waste it. By the time she'd finished outfitting herself the enemy ship was no more than a half minute distant.

Dietrich raced up the rope ladder to the half-mast platform, where a cluster of men were preparing by ramming lead balls down the barrels of their muskets. She had scarcely arrived when Ferrara could barely be heard over the din of war preparations below.

"On my whistle, boys, give her hell!"

Dietrich noticed the pirate ship, a full deck taller in places and bristling with cannon, was still not broadside of the CSS Cesarski when Ferrara's whistle came.

One of the marines besides Dietrich cursed, "What does the fucker think he's doing—"

The rest of his words were drowned out as the CSS Cesarski let loose an early broadside. Wood shrapnel, splinters, body parts, blood and guts were sent flying all throughout the enemy ship, for the broadside had been angled forward to get in the first shot. Almost in immediate retaliation the blasts of muskets rang out in response from the flush-decked pirate ship. Of the half score of marines with her, one was hit and fell backwards. Before she could pull him back, he fell over the platform's railing screaming in pain and terror. His scream abruptly ended when he met the deck below.

She could only watch from the back of the platform, uselessly, as the marines before her leveled their muskets and simultaneously let loose a volley of shots, enveloping them all with the smoke of their fire and the deafening cacophony that accompanied it. One of the pirate ship's gunners high above the deck let out a scream and fell into the water below. Dietrich reached down to grab one of her throwing knives.

"Nice shot, Jagiellka," one marine complimented a larger comrade.

Jagiellka was never given the chance to reply, for the next moment the pirate ship let loose with a full broadside. Dietrich was knocked backwards suddenly, and when she'd come to a moment later, there were a pair of headless marines piled atop her. She was sandwiched against the platform's railing, although thankfully there was a rope mesh preventing her being knocked off to her doom. The corpses weighed on her, but not enough to trouble her superhuman strength. It took a moment to find the leverage, but soon enough Dietrich was able to push the bodies off her with a push from her legs. A glance found a huge gap in the rope mesh opposite her, towards the imposing pirate ship.

'Cannonball—the poor bastards didn't stand a chance,' Dietrich thought.

She tried not to think how it would have been her head gone as well had she not been reaching for one of her throwing knives at that moment.

The remaining marines were to her left, trying to take advantage of what little cover the ship's main mast offered while they reloaded. A shot hit the mast above Dietrich's head, though she ducked on instinct for all the good it would do her. Soon more shots were whizzing by, some of them impacting with dull thuds and splintering wood into the mast. Dietrich belatedly noticed literally dozens of enemy shooters in the pirate ship's platforms taking aim at her and the nearby marines and realized she was an easy target.

Dietrich scrambled to take cover behind the mast, but just as she reached it, she felt a sting in her chest. It took a moment to find she'd been shot in the chest, the bullet having entered through her right side and lodged in a lung, judging by the pain. That was a real problem. Dietrich knew bullet hits, unless to a warrior's head or heart, were not fatal. But bleeding in the lungs from bullet wounds could suffocate a warrior if suffered enough, and would cut short her breath otherwise. Unfortunately she was in no position to rectify the position. The usual solution, or so she'd heard, was to let the wound heal around the bullet, cut a hole into the chest to drain the lungs of blood, and then retrieve the bullet.

The pirate ship had passed them, with both ship's crews now engaging in pot shots and reloading for the next pass. Dietrich was just about to collect her breath when a sudden lurch thrust her forward and over the platform's railing.

Claire had taken her bath, and Raki followed her example, their house being one of the fortunate few in Rabona with both heated and running water thanks to Helen's generosity. He hadn't wanted to accept Helen's generosity because he'd rather they didn't rely upon the charity of others, but Claire was only too happy to accept. She'd also accepted without him being around, which had resulted in a minor row between them.

Raki upon finishing and toweling himself dry glanced back across the bed and noticed the hour clock at the room's opposite end was reading seven o'clock. He was just getting on his trousers when he noticed Claire buttoning up her fine white and black-striped gown.

Claire looked over and commented, "You had better hurry up and get ready. Miata and her husband will be here to pick us up within the hour and I don't you to be late like always."

Claire looked at him as if he were already late but said nothing more. The uncomfortable quiet was broken by the noise of a baby's crying coming into the room from under the door.

"I'll handle him if you check in on Teresa and Victor," Claire declared.

Before he could utter a word of protest she had walked to the door, opened it, and left the room, leaving him no choice but to go along with her whim as usual. It was not, in his opinion, one of Claire's better habits. Raki looked around the relatively spartan room.

The master bedroom featured only a pair of doors. One led out to the third floor hallway, while the other opposite it led to the cramped master bathroom. Even though he had bought what was by most standards a decent 3-story block house in Rabona, it was beyond his salary as a member of Parlement to have it well-decorated yet. Silver-eyed he may have been, but that didn't pay for food or lodging. They'd tried living on their own, but he'd grown worried about the effect of that on the children. The result was their moving to Rabona, a change the twins had enjoyed, as they were making friends fast despite some disapproving looks at Teresa's horseplay.

He had just finished putting on a blue-and-white vest over a fine, long white shirt when Raki heard the sound of rapid footsteps. He rushed out to see a mattress being slammed down at the top of the stairs. A pair of silver-eyed four-year olds wearing white pants and navy blue shirts then gave a shout of joy and pushed the mattress. As it picked up speed it made a terrific racket as the mattress thumped its way rapidly down the stairs to the screaming delight of its riders. The delight didn't last long.

Raki rushed down the stairs and nabbed the culprits firmly in both arms.

"I said no fooling around in the house," Raki reprimanded them. "How many times do I have to tell you this?"

Claire had heard the racket and was walking down the stairs nursing little Dominique, who had been gaining weight fast lately. He was trussed up in blue swaddling meant to keep him from moving.

"That's it, no toys for either of you for the week," Claire declared.

Victor, true to his melodramatic nature, burst into tears and jumped out of Raki's grip.

"Nooonnn, Mère," Victor cried, tears falling like raindrops.

Victor rushed up the stairs and clutched his mother's leg, attempting to somehow overturn his mother's orders by overwhelming her with tears. In truth, although Victor's behavior often reminded Raki of his early years, he looked like a short-haired clone of his mother, right down to the shape of his eyes and aquiline nose. Teresa on the other hand had inherited her mother's streak for getting into trouble but had his eyes. She was less melodramatic than Victor but more than made up for it by seeing how far she could push things.

"Victor, for the sake of the gods, you're four years old, you're too old to be crying like this," Claire reprimanded him. "That's not how boys are supposed to act!"

Raki looked away in awkwardness at this moment.

Victor, stomped and cried, "It's not fair!"

"You should have thought of that before you rode your mattress down the stairs," Claire tartly replied.

Claire was not exactly the most forgiving of mothers, but even her old warrior mentality had been taking a beating from dealing with the constant foibles of the twins.

"Raki, put the mattress back," Claire requested, sounding exasperated.

Victor was continuing his sympathy and tears offensive going despite Claire's disapproving look, while Raki had only just brought the mattress upstairs when Claire's attention turned to Teresa. He was setting the down-filled mattress back down on Victor's bed when Claire audibly turned her attention upon the older of the twins.

Claire coldly started the interrogation, "Teresa, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Oh boy," Raki muttered.

Teresa had a habit of not seeing the problem with her behavior and also not knowing better than showing this attitude off to her mother. He often wondered if Teresa secretly enjoyed getting her mother upset.

He rushed out to the hallway to hear Teresa exclaim, "But it was fun!"

This set Claire off into reprimand mode, "That is not an excuse for you to wreck a mattress. That mattress costs a lot of money, your father and I can't afford to replace your mattresses all the time. Would you prefer if you didn't get to sleep on a mattress?"

Teresa looked like a 4-year old version of her mother except for her longer, wavier hair and a tendency to always be smiling. Victor had similarly wavy hair that fell to his shoulders as was the style in Rabona for men and boys. Teresa clasped her hands behind her back and looked at the floor as if innocent before reluctantly admitting to defeat.

"Non," Teresa whispered.

Claire bent down and brought Teresa's face up with a hand, "Then there will be no more horseplay with the mattress, right?"

Teresa looked sideways as if she was tired of this, "Non."

Both twins were wearing white trousers and blue shirts, although Teresa's featured frilly, puffy sleeves. Teresa's clothing was meant to ameliorate the neighbors' haranguing about her "masculine" behavior. It seemed to not be any help so far, as Claire had had to be restrained from knocking out a group of judgmental wives when they'd loudly disapproved of Teresa's running around and playing with the neighborhood's boys in vulgar terms.

Claire followed up Teresa's meek "non" by grabbing Teresa's chin and forcing the girl to look her in the eyes, "The next time either of you decide to break anything in the house, it's coming out of your piggy bank. Do you want me to have to take your piggy bank?"

Teresa for once turned sulky, "Non."

Claire followed up, "Then you won't—"

A loud knock interrupted from downstairs, causing everyone to look down the stairwell towards the ground floor. Raki walked over to the hallway's front window, opened it, and looked down. At the top of the house's front steps was a female claymore wearing a full-body black leather outfit. She was fairly petite, her massive sword covered by a velvet sheath looking almost comically large against her body. The warrior's hair was a brilliant yellow-gold, which she had pulled into two pigtails. Each of these was braided and nearly waist-long, giving the warrior a deceivingly cute appearance.

"We'll be down in a minute, Alexandra," Raki shouted down.

"I'll wait right here then," Alexandra cheerfully answered, looking up.

* * *

Dietrich was barely dangling many stories above the CSS Cesarski's heaving deck, held there only by the fierce grip of her two hands upon the platform's railing. The ship had only moments earlier rapidly slowed down, nearly throwing Dietrich to her doom. By pure instinct, Dietrich had gripped the railing of the platform as her momentum carried her over the platform's edge. A pair of marines scrambled over, grabbed on to each of her arms, and grunting with effort, pulled Dietrich up.

Dietrich gasped, "What in the hell just happened?"

One of the marines, a young, dark-skinned man with a bad goatee, motioned, "The Captain dropped our starboard anchor."

Dietrich glimpsed down through the lingering gunpowder smoke, past the blood and body parts alongside the men on the deck, to the CSS Cesarski's bow. A wooden, winged woman crowned it, but on the bow's right, starboard side, an anchor line was clearly visible. The anchor had clearly been dropped into the water, and it must have snagged on something on the ocean bottom for the warship to slow so suddenly.

Dietrich spat, "What does he think he's doing?!"

The CSS Cesarski was nearly dead in the water while the pirate's ship in contrast was beginning its long turnaround to re-engage them. Dietrich caught a glimpse of Captain Ferrara down below and noticed the ship was drifting with what momentum it still had in a clockwise direction to the portside.

There was a shout below, "Oarsmen, to your duty!"

A long line of oars appeared on the warship's port side, where they lunged forward almost as one, plunged into the water, and pushed backwards against the sea. Suddenly the drifting turned into more of a concerted turn.

"That's brilliant of the captain, that is," the dark-skinned marine remarked.

Dietrich was confused, "What is?"

"He's turning our starboard broadside to the enemy before they can return fire," an older, pale-skinned, veteran marine interjected. "It's the side that hasn't fired yet."

Dietrich realized the two marines had the right of it. She just wished the maneuver hadn't come so close to killing her by throwing her overboard weighted down by her weapons, or worse, plummeting to her doom on the deck. A glance found the pirate ship still within range, but she clearly was picking up on the danger. Every sail she had was being unfurled; the enemy meant to speed out of range before the CSS Cesarski could strike.

"If we're going to take the shot, they'd better hurry," Dietrich commented, her voice tense. "We can't afford to miss this."

The men below on the deck were rushing to their gun stations as the ship made its ponderous, forced turn. The oarsmen were slowing the turn now, counter-rowing to keep the ship from angling too quickly to deliver its broadside. Dietrich cursed how slowly everything was moving; if the pirates managed to get out of effective range, the fight would be over, and her life gone with it.

"Make ready," Captain Ferrara's voice shouted from the deck below. The gun crews weren't even bothering to load their cannons, which alarmed her.

"Come on, they're nearly out of range," Dietrich snapped, the pirate ship now at least a couple hundred meters away and accelerating.

She could see Ferrara pacing the deck, checking the gun sights, all while the wounded were carried below deck and body parts were thrown overboard.

Dietrich muttered aloud, "What the hell is he waiting for?"

"He's getting the guns properly aimed, the veteran marine pointed out.

"Well he had better hurry, because that ship is—"

Dietrich's ranting was interrupted by a single word below, "Fire!"

* * *

Teresa shouted with joy, "Alexandra!"

Raki turned to see his daughter run down the stairs.

Claire snapped, "Don't run down the stairs!"

This might as well been shouted at a brick wall, for it seemed to go in one of Teresa's ears and out the other. She noisily kept going, with Claire impotent to stop her given Dominique was still nursing from his mother's breast. Victor meanwhile was walking quickly down the stairs. Raki followed his son downstairs. When he'd arrived on the ground floor Teresa was hurriedly unlocking the front door. Or at least she was trying to, but Teresa couldn't reach the upper locks with her small frame.

"Here, let me help you," Raki interjected, picking up his daughter.

She gleefully turned the top two locks on the front door, and upon being set down deftly opened the front door. The sun lit up Alexandra from behind, giving her an almost heavenly aura as she held out her arms welcomingly.

"There's my little champion," Alexandra gushed.

Teresa's enthusiasm carried her up and into Alexandra's arms in a flying leap, practically knocking over her silver-eyed babysitter.

"Teresa, that's not how we greet guests," Raki lectured.

"It's all right," Alexandra smiled, recovering her poise with a smile as she embraced little Teresa in a hug. "Bonjour, Claire. I see Dominique's been getting bigger."

Claire had walked up silently behind him holding 6-month old Dominique. Raki turned to find she'd covered up before exposing herself to onlookers. Claire had the barest hint of a grin upon her face. Alexandra was something of a loquacious gusher and eternal optimist, something that made grins around her almost impossible to avoid. It was why Alexandra was trusted with the kids when they were away. That and she was quite lethal with a sword. This was unfortunately an absolute necessity for them. The children had turned from being their pride and sometimes aggravation to being a potential way to blackmail them.

When fanatical officers had attempted a coup against the new Parlement more than a year ago, they'd taken the twins hostage when they were away. It had all been a ploy to guarantee he and Claire didn't stop the coup by force when soldiers began pouring into Parlement. Of course those soldiers hadn't been counting on Phantom Miria's reaction. Miria had crushed the revolt by walking into the Parlement and arresting the coup plotters while her husband, Cid, had risked life and limb to save the twins. For her actions, Parlement had named Miria to the vacant throne of Toulouse along with her husband, Cid.

"Look at the little cutey," Alexandra gushed, reaching out towards Dominique. "Do you mind if I hold him?"

"Not at all," Claire murmured, passing little Dominique over.

He burst into tears in the arms upon seeing Alexandra's face replacing his mother's.

Alexandra took this in stride as she held Dominique in one arm, "Come now, this is my second time holding you. What's the matter, Victor? Why are you sniffling?"

Victor grumbled, "Mère won't let me have toys!"

Claire was unapologetic, "I had to take his toys after he and his sister decided to ride their mattress down the stairs."

"Well that's too bad," Alexandra tactfully offered. "We'll just have to have fun some other way then, won't we?"

There was an awkward silence after this, as Raki knew Claire wanted Alexandra to be a harder on the twins. It was a useless sentiment. The same bubbly attitude that made Alexandra a natural with children also made her a soft touch on discipline. Claire had once remarked to him that between Alexandra's hairstyle and attitude, she was like a reincarnation of Cynthia. That comparison was not brought up again after he had pointed out Alexandra was far better at keeping people out of trouble than Cynthia.

Raki looked around, "Another beautiful morning, isn't it?"

The streets were bustling with people, with shop owners shouting to attract customers, better-off residents riding horses through the streets, and shutters opening to bring in the air. It could not be called fresh, for the streets were strewn with trodden horse shit and the remnants of chamber pots. Across the narrow street were three competing bakeries, and out of each wafted an arresting aroma of fresh baked bread almost strong enough to cover up the other smells.

"At least the bakeries cover up the stench," Claire grumbled.

"Out of the way! Make way for the Marquis and Marquise Tierra!"

A cavalryman in a splendid black and white uniform was trotting up the street waving people to the sides.

Alexandra smirked, "Looks like Miata is almost here already. Your Mère and Pèreare going to have to go soon. What do you two say?"

"We'll be good," Teresa optimistically promised.

"Famous last words," Raki murmured. "The last time I heard those, you wound up teaching your brother how to get onto the roof."

"But it was fun," Teresa recklessly remarked.

"Teresa, promise your Père you won't go on the roof again," Claire interjected.

"Why?"

'Not this again,' Raki groaned inwardly.

"Because it's a dangerous thing to do," Claire pointed out.

"Why?"

"Because we said so," Claire snapped, losing patience.

"Why?"

Before they could lose their patience further with Teresa's antics Alexandra intervened.

"Teresa, you don't want to make your parents worry about you every time they're away, otherwise they won't let me come and have fun with you," Alexandra pointed out. "We'll have fun while they're away, but only if you promise your Mèreand Pèrenot to go on the roof."

Teresa nodded, which Raki knew from experience was about as good a promise as they were going to get out of his daughter.

The crowds parted a block away and they heard a thundering of hoofs.

"Looks like our ride is here," Raki remarked. "Alexandra, why don't you take the children back in?"

Alexandra nodded and reached over to the twins.

"Well you got to hand it to Miata and Raul, they certainly know how to make an entrance," Raki admitted at getting a better look at what was coming.

Dietrich grasped the railing as the CSS Cesarski as it recoiled from the impact of firing its cannon once again. The noise, even from five stories up in a platform attached to the warship's main mast, was deafening. Even as she watched, the dark blurs of cannonballs whizzed out from the warship towards an even larger one 300 yards distant. The shots were fired high, and most missed their intended targets, instead tearing through the pirate ship's sails and on rare occasion, through its crew. But a belated shot found its mark and toppled the foremast, its top, along with the three sailors above the where the cannonball had split it, crashing into the sea.

"That's the captain for you," a scruffy-looking veteran marine shouted beside her. "The captain always said it's the smarter man that wins, not the one with the bigger ship."

'That's not always true, you fool,' Dietrich thought.

Sometimes pure strength could not be matched by wits, though it was altogether more deadly when backed by a great intellect like the Cesarzowa's and not the uncaring, never-planning personality of a monster like Priscilla. Had those two fought, the Cesarzowa would have died fighting alone. It was only because Katarzyna Romanowa commanded unrivalled armies of silver-eyed slayers that she would have triumphed had Priscilla come to the mainland.

The wind was picking up now, so strong it threatened to blow off her black bicorn hat. Dietrich grasped it with a hand as the CSS Cesarski angled into the wind. The ship was tacking starboard in order to get a shot at the enemy's stern.

"Look at that, they think their stern cannon is going to stop us," one marine scoffed, mocking the pirates.

The enemy ship was proving slow-to-maneuver with its foremast toppled, but she wasn't standing still either. By the time the CSS Cesarski opened fire, most of her broadside fell short of the pirates' stern. Instead the pirates began a rapid turn while Captain Ferrara reoriented the Cesarski for a pass.

"Come on boys, let's finish these bastards," the first mate bellowed from below.

"Oh hell," not again," Dietrich murmured, noticing the pirate ship was turning around to line up up with the CSS Cesarski for another broadside. The CSS Cesarski, having just pulled up its own anchor, sprang loose to meet the challenge. The Cesarski turned again, but far less than Dietrich expected, setting a path that would take alarming take her in front of the pirate ship's bow. Dietrich could not quite believe her eyes.

"Trim sails," Captain Ferrara shouted from below," and prepare to board!"

Dietrich noticed the crew readying grappling hooks, each of which was attached to a long, sturdy rope. Given the pirates weren't moving at much speed, it seemed Ferrara hoped the grappling hooks' lines would prove enough to grab the enemy ship. Though how he intended to do that while on a course to have them smashed in the side eluded Dietrhc.

The captain's voice carried even as the bow cannon of the two ships opened fire, "Hard to port!"

The CSS Cesarski cut a hard turn to the left, turning straight towards the path of the oncoming pirate ship. Dietrich held on for dear life as the ship's roll left her looking down at the ocean below. The pirates made a desperate left turn to avoid the CSS Cesarski, killing much of their momentum. It wasn't enough, for a moment they struck a glancing blow.

Raki watched as eight black horses, each harnessed, equipped with blinders and their heads topped with red crests pulled a fine black and gold carriage down the street. It was a gaudy display in any city, but particularly here in Rabona, where pulled carriages like this were a recent import from the mainland. Only those of considerable wealth could afford so many horses and servants for such transportation.

"I tell her not to make a scene, and look at this," Claire quietly hissed. "Is she trying to humiliate us?"

"If you'd told her flat out not to come in carriage I think she would have understood what you meant," Raki murmured. "Miata's not one for picking up on subtle hints, Claire."

"I don't like having to spell everything out to the last letter," Claire muttered as Alexandra shepherded the children inside.

"Leave it be, Claire, you know Miata meant well," Raki murmured back to his wife.

Claire had always preferred not having to say everything, and his wife seemed to prefer if everyone behaved and understood things as she did. Claire was bound to be disappointed by other people, and he had long since given up trying to convince her to change that attitude. Claire wasn't going to change her ways unless she wanted to, which she did not.

The carriage was making tremendous noise as it came up the street. Raki was surprised it even fit into the street, but it had. It was large by any standard, and its wheels were very nearly as tall as many men were tall. It was gaudy probably even by Rabona's standards, with its fine wood construction gilded in gold and diamonds. Given that Raul Malaga, the Marquis of Pieta, was a part owner of Pieta's local diamond mine, this was no shock. The carriage came to a jerky stop with its door a few feet before them. Several of the horses snorted in frustration at the driver reining them in. The carriage's driver, dressed in a fine black and white uniform, tipped his hat towards Raki and Claire while a coachman hopped off the carriage's back.

People in the street scurried to the safety of the shops and stone porches to watch. A quartet of armed guards in ceremonial armor rode up on black stallions, forming a perimeter around the carriage and dispersed the crowd further. They made a grand sight; yet more proof that the diamond mine was making its owners unfathomably rich by Rabona's standards. Even Lord Mayor Zaehringen, who had been the wealthiest man in town till Miria's diamond mine came along, couldn't have afforded such trappings of power.

"I see Raul is doing well for himself," Raki commented.

"No commenting on his wealth, and not a word about politics," Claire whispered. "Act grateful and let me do the talking."

Upon the door was plastered with the Tierra family coat of arms. It was split in two, with Miata's invented coat of arms occupying the right half and her husband's occupying the left. Miata's half included the outline of three mountains in the background, with an open eye underneath her warrior symbol. Raul Tierra's was gaudier in Raki's opinion; it included a unicorn head framed by a river and a mountain, with a trio of diamonds in the sky.

The door opened before the coachman could open it and out jumped a young silver-eyed female. She was taller than Claire and even slightly taller than the dark-haired man inside the carriage. She wore no dress but wore black and white, well-decorated leather pants and dark brown riding boots. A belt encrusted with eye-sized diamonds held a short dagger. The shirt appeared to be made of silk and was colored black with white decorations running up and down it. It also scandalously opened in a deep v cut, showing off eye-watering amounts of cleavage, all of it framed by an alluring white lace.

"Miata, good to see you again," Raki warmly greeted her, holding out his hand.

Miata instead greeted him in the new Rabonese tradition with a kiss on both cheeks.

Raki blushed at her greeting. He stepped back and thanked his creators that the latest fashion in Rabona featured trousers with rigid codpieces. Raki quickly tried to hide his embarrassment as Miata turned to Claire.

"So good to see you again, Claire," Miata greeted his wife before kissing her on both cheeks. "You look fabulous."

Claire's annoyed mood vanished, "Why thank you, Miata. I try."

Claire was wearing a smile and a fine black and white-striped gown with a high collar, tight sleeves, which hugged her torso and flowed below the waist. It was conservative, as it came up to her neck, but there was elegance to it. Raki was just glad Claire hadn't asked for another dress like it. He was still afraid she might ask how much it'd cost.

Miata, nearly seventeen now, asked plaintively, "We're not late, are we?"

"Not at all," Raki assured her.

Of the many things he'd predicted would happen after the Organization's fall, Miata turning into the most beautiful silver-eyed female on the island had not been one of them. However for all of her confidence on the battlefield and amazing looks, Miata still showed signs of her old lack of social confidence. It was otherwise hard to see the old Miata in the beautiful young woman before him. It was at that moment when Miata's husband Raul exited the carriage like the virile, athletic man he was. Raul wore a fine blue and white vest and looked every inch the lord he was, was rather different. He had shoulder-length, curly black hair, a well-trimmed beard, a fine nose, and was built like an athlete, with a well-defined jaw. He was nearly a match for his young wife in looks, and as he wrapped his arm about Miata's waist, Raki had to agree they made one hell of an attractive couple. It was no wonder they were so popular with the masses.

"Raki, I hear you're still up to your old tricks in Parlement," Raul rather tactlessly remarked, holding out his hands but smiling. "You must be looking forward to our dear Reine's coronation."

Raki had always gotten the feeling Raul Tierra did not share his political sympathies, and this greeting only helped deepen that suspicion. Thankfully Raul had not yet openly said anything critical in public. Raki had more than enough political rivals as it was.

"Ah, yes," he stumbled, "it is… it is a moment the Queen rather deserves."

"Of course it is," Raul agreed, "though I hear Ruud van Willems is causing some trouble again. Did you hear he wants to raise taxes?"

Claire looked over with a glance that told him all he had to know about her feelings on him saying a word on the matter.

Raki let go of his urge to explain that and simply replied, "No I had not. Shouldn't we get going? It's bound to take awhile to get to Parlement."

Raul smiled, "Of course, of course, just give me a minute. My wife never allows me to smoke these when I'm in the carriage."

Raul took out a long, brown object that looked like rolled paper.

He took a sniff and smiled, "Bretonese cigar. They're as good to smoke as they smell. Don't wait out here on my behalf. Coachman, show our honored guests their seats."

Raki and Claire soon climbed into the carriage, which was even more sumptuously appointed inside than out. The benches appeared to be lined both horizontally and vertically with the finest red velvet, while the floor was a rich, stained maple. The whole interior was trimmed in gold, and by the soft feel of it, Raki judged it genuine gold. Raki noticed Miata had stayed outside with her husband as he lit his cigar.

Raki heard Miata nag her husband, "Must you smoke again?"

"There is nothing dangerous in a man smoking, dear," Raul rebutted, clearly unhappy at her intervention. "Now go entertain our guests and let me—"

Raki's eavesdropping abruptly ended when the coachman shut the carriage's door. Claire was clearly drowsy, yawning enormously. This she followed stretching, reclining her head against the padded carriage bench, and closing her eyes. With his wife clearly uninterested in conversation, Raki turned his eyes back to Miata and Raul, with Miata clearly objecting to Raul's smoking, while Raul in contrast seemed to disregard every word she said. He was much too busy smoking.

'I just don't get it, how could a man ignore his spouse when she looked like that?'

Miata was so pretty it was hard to keep his eyes off her. Because Miata had combined a riding outfit with formalwear, it was impossible to miss her physique. She had long, toned legs, had a posterior was both sculpted by exercise and amply proportioned, waspish hips, a face that was almost angelically beautiful, big eyes with long lashes, and rivaled even the late Deneve in bust. In short, she was built like a man's fantasy; though he was not about to ever say that. Raki left his thoughts unvoiced, keenly aware of just how Claire reacted to him talking about the beauty of other women.

Miata was gesturing more dramatically now, clearly unhappy with Raul's smoking.

Raki sighed and remembered what a priest had once told him, 'All the wealth and beauty in the world cannot buy you happiness if the love you share with another is troubled.'

Dietrich noticed a grappling hook dangling and swaying from the platform above her, which along with the ship was still slowing down from the slow motion sideways collision between the Cesarski and the pirate vessel. Below she could already hear the screams, yells, and gunfire of battle, but not yet the sounds of swords hitting each other. The enemy ship had not yet been boarded.

A surprised marine mouthed, "Where are you going?!"

Dietrich smiled as she climbed the rigging up to the next platform, "Why, I'm going to board the enemy ship, soldier."

The veteran marine scoffed, "From all the way up here? Have you lost your damn mind, slayer? You'll sooner fall to your doom than board from this high up."

"That's where you're—oww!"

Something struck her right leg, and judging from the blood trickling down it, it could only have been a bullet. Dietrich cursed her complacency for pausing to talk and present such a lovely target in the midst of battle. Despite the pain it was not debilitating, but another war injury was not what she needed.

This time Dietrich finished the climb quickly, pushed past the two surprised sailors at this higher platform, and grabbed the grappling hook dangling from a railing edge. The rope felt strong, and the hooks looked to be made of sturdy steel.

"Get out of my way," Dietrich snapped at the bewildered young men.

She tested her footing atop the mizzenmast that held up a massive sail, and when the ship had stopped rocking as much and the screams of melee combat began, Dietrich risked walking out, unsupported, 8 stories above the decks below.

"Don't look down, don't look down," Dietrich mumbled. "Oh fucking hell, why did I want to do this?"

She might have stopped there and gone back but for someone taking a shot at her from the crow's nest of the pirate ship. It grazed her cheek, and for once, Dietrich lost all caution in her anger.

Dietrich growled, "If that's how you want to play it, here I come!"

This time she ran forward atop the long wooden pole, swinging the grappling hook as she went. It sailed over the gap between the ships, looped around the mainmast, and anchored itself. Then, driven more by anger than common sense, she jumped off the CSS Cesarski holding the attached rope and prayed that it would hold.

* * *

The carriage ride to Parlement, where Miria was to be crowned, had been awkward to say the least. When Miata and Raul, the latter smelling of smoke, had finally joined them in the carriage after what looked to have been a lengthy argument, neither was talking to the other. Miata had sat next to her husband, crossed her arms, and glanced over at him and Claire with a strange look. Was it jealousy? It certainly seemed like it might have been, for Claire had been napping on his shoulder as they'd continued along. Strange as it seemed, he and Claire must have seemed to Miata the perfect, happily-married couple. Raki was just glad Miata had not brought up their marriage in conversation. As much as he loved Claire, their marriage was not without its ups and downs, and he'd have hated disappointing Miata's ideal of them.

Soon enough they crossed the Toulouse River on a stone bridge, the central citadel of Rabona coming into view. It loomed large over the western banks of the Toulouse River, its five story fortified walls guarding the seats of power within. It was only after they passed under the northern gatehouse's portcullis and inside when he saw the Parlement across a grand square layered in cobblestones. It was a grand building, built of sandstone and featuring a steep gabled roof. Two large halls dominated its structure, with the one towards the grand entrance running parallel to the square, standing some eight stories tall. Further back an even taller hall peaked out; its side dominated by huge stained glass windows. On opposite ends of the complex were two large, fifteen story towers, the westernmost of which featured a huge hour clock. The other featured a belfry, though Raki had no inkling as to its purpose.

They arrived at Parlement's entrance, where a huge crowd of common folk and dignitaries were gathered, dressed in their best garb. It took a minute to get out, but when they did, he made sure to thank the Tierras for the ride, and walked towards the massive wooden front doors of Parlement with Claire on his arm. The Tierras preceded them and were soon out of sight. Raki noticed guards wielding halberds and wearing ceremonial armor with blue and white-trimmed cloaks were everywhere. He knew who they were at first sight; the Garde du Parlement, the Parlement's protectors.

"It looks like Ruud van Willems is taking no chances," Raki remarked to Claire.

Claire said nothing in response, and continued saying nothing until they were well inside Parlement and it was too noisy for many to hear them talk.

Claire crossed her arms, clearly miffed, "Do you think I'm blind?"

"I never said you were," Raki offered, mystified.

He didn't stay that way long.

Claire snapped, her voice low, "You had your eyes down Miata's cleavage half the trip. Do you think I wouldn't notice?"

Raki was thankful that in all the hubbub no one could overhear their civil problems.

'Oh dear, this is not going to be pretty,' Raki thought.

Raki sighed, "Claire, she was seated opposite me the whole trip. I'm sorry dear, but you know I love you more than anything, so can you just let it go? I would never do anything to hurt you or our children."

"Except that one time with Galatea," Claire murmured, giving him a stern glance.

Claire walked off, and Raki let her go, knowing she would cool down faster without him around. He had always regretted what had happened with Galatea. It had been months before he married Claire, and she'd been busy killing off Yoma elsewhere on the island. Galatea had hosted a gathering of friars, who had brought along their best beer. Many of the friars had brought along their wives, while a few others had forsaken their vows and invited unmarried women to the festivities. Raki had paid this no mind; he was busy getting drunk with Cid, cracking jokes, and having a good time when Galatea had showed up and made advances. She'd been making advances all month without Claire there, but somehow, after lots of drink, it had seemed a good idea to go someplace with her. Soon enough they were at it in a church confession box, where Galatea had ridden him like a wild stallion right up until Claire walked into the church. Claire was actually reduced to a speechless rage as Galatea had run off while he was left explaining how she'd found him with his pants down in a confession box.

Thus Claire had refused to leave his side for a minute of the next month, except when he had to use the chamber pot, which was at least something. He was pretty certain Claire would never let him forget that one moment of drunken weakness for the rest of his days. He was also certain he'd probably never be able to entirely make it up to Claire, no matter how hard he tried.

Raki sighed, put his hands through his hair, and then walked towards the upper galleries of the Parlement's main chamber, where he could watch the festivities. The Parlement building was awash with plush green carpeting, its walls swathed in fine maple woodwork, and its ceilings were dominated by paintings and frescoes of religious stories. Raki climbed a grand stairway wider than his house until finally he reached the dimly lit upper hall to the main chamber's galleries. It was lit only by candlewicks, and at the entrance to the chamber were a pair of Royal Guards, decked out in full armor and blue and gold cloaks.

Raki noticed a man of modest proportions observing things in the chamber near the door. He had short brownish-blond hair, was sumptuously dressed in an outfit of black trimmed with red, and his head was topped by a white cap with red feathers. The man turned around upon hearing his approach, and recognition came immediately.

Raki bowed low, "Votre Majesté".

The king held up a hand in protest while smiling, "Raki, please, no need for formalities here between two old friends."

Cid Malaga was Miria's consort and king, and while not as handsome as Raul Tierra, certainly looked like a royal. Miria had felt it insulting to have her husband referred to as a prince and insisted he be named Roi, or king. It was a strictly ceremonial title though, as Miria was the one who'd been made monarch for life. But given Cid's personality and deep connections with those in power, he'd proven impossible to ignore. He'd also shown his true character when he'd rescued Raki's children from the fanatics who'd tried to overthrow Parlement. He was nothing short of a hero in Raki's opinion, though still rather cocky.

"Of course, Majesté," Raki smiled, informal as he dared.

It was obvious from the way to Raki that the king had had this particular hall to the Parlement's eastern gallery cleared. Guards he had not seen previously jumped into view to stop several oblivious commoners from climbing the stairs.

"I suppose I'm going to have to get used to all the formality," Cid sighed.

Cid walked forward, arms out, and gave Raki a friendly hug before pulling back.

"I saw you and the missus were having quite the conversation," the king stated flatly. "Whatever have you done to offend to offend our dear Claire?"

Raki sighed, "She caught me looking down Miata's cleavage."

"A blind man would be caught looking down Miata's cleavage," Cid deadpanned. "Let's face facts Raki; the only men who wouldn't get caught staring at Miata's chest are eunuchs. Claire will get over it, so long as you didn't put a hand down all that cleavage."

"I have better self-control than that," Raki chuckled.

Cid walked to the darkened entrance to the main chamber, his eyes following the socializing, "Still, I almost feel sorry for the girl."

That caught Raki off-guard, "You feel sorry for Claire?"

Cid slapped him merrily on the back, "Claire? Bah! Claire can take care of herself. I'm talking about Miata. My wife has the same problem."

Raki walked up to the darkened entranceway to Parlement's eastern gallery and followed Cid's gaze. Raki noticed Miata and Raul were in the lower western gallery, busily talking with well-heeled socialites and well-wishers. Miata was drawing the eyes of very nearly every man nearby, while Raul obliviously missed this, or perhaps he was ignoring it. Even at this distance Miata's ample assets were easy enough to spot.

Raki looked at Miata and shook his head, "Your Grace, I'm sorry, but what problem would that be?"

Cid patted him on the back, smiling, "It's a problem most women either harp on or won't admit to having; they're both gaining weight."

"Oh," Raki murmured, making a realization as he looked at Miata again.

Miata was certainly not flabby in the least, which was understandable given how much she worked out, but she was rather shapelier than normal for a claymore. Compared to Helen, he would not be able to describe Miata as particularly skinny.

Cid put up his hands, "Miria somehow thinks it is poor etiquette not to eat if I am eating, and our chefs have figured out all her favorite foods. It's a non-stop rain of cherry pies, chicken hollandaise, fruit salads, seared salmon and more. Raul tells me Miata has the same problem. The damn chefs are stuffing them so full of food that even working out five hours a day is not enough. The real issue with Miria is she won't admit that there's a problem."

Raki commented delicately, "She didn't look like she'd gained much around her waist the last I saw her last month."

Cid was not so delicate, "Her waist has still grown, but her real problem is she's putting most of it into her chest. She's half again as large there as she was a year ago, and nobody wants to tell her this is a problem. Miata at least buys new clothes; my wife is so in denial she slams the door on me whenever I mention it. It's gotten so bad I've had to bribe her seamstresses to adjust things under her nose, otherwise she'd be spilling out of her dresses by now. I keep hoping she'll get out of denial about it, but I've had no luck."

Raki heard a rustle below and saw a middle-aged man dressed in the white and gold robes of the Rabona Orthodox Church be stopped below by a pair of Royals Guardsmen. He was white-haired, with piercing blue eyes that and a charismatic presence.

Cid waved the priest forward, "Good to see you again, Bishop Paulus."

"As it is you, Votre Majesté," Paulus said with a serious face.

"This my friend, Monsieur Raki Lautrec," Cid remarked, gesturing. "Raki, this is Bishop Paulus, Bishop of Southern Toulouse and spiritual advisor to the Crown."

"A pleasure," Paulus greeted him, holding out a hand.

Raki was surprised but gladly shook the Bishop's hand

The king seemed to take in Paulus' seriousness, "What can I do for you, Bishop?"

"I've been sent by Her Royal Majesty. There's been an incident in Lautrec that requires your attention. If you'll follow me," Paulus said, motioning down the stairs.

"We'll have to chat some other time, Raki," Cid sighed, sounding apologetic.

With that the king and Bishop Paulus left, walking down the stairs, where at the bottom a hidden door was opened by the Garde Royale. They disappeared from view through it, but not before drawing a small crowd's attention. Seconds later the Garde Royale shut the wooden door from the inside and left the crowd excitedly talking in their wake. It wouldn't be long before they came up to the upper eastern gallery, where row upon row of open seats awaited.

Raki walked to the main chamber's entrance to enjoy the as yet unspoiled view. The Parlement chamber's ceiling was shaped like an upside down v and lined was ornamented trusses. The chamber itself was in the shape of a long oval, with a stadium-like seating for the gallery above the main floor. Four rows of wooden benches on the main floor were arranged below the galleries like a 'u', each row descending a little lower until it reached the central floor. In this way all members had a good view of each other, with differing factions sitting in different sections of the chamber. Lighting all of this was the light coming through the chamber's tall, immense stained glass windows, each full of religious devotional art. At the chamber's far end were two chairs. One was the great, ornamented wooden chair for the non-partisan speaker of the chamber. Above it, on a raised, red-carpeted platform several steps higher than the main floor, was an otherworldly sight.

"By the gods," Raki murmured in shock.

Cid had mentioned that they'd spared no expense in crafting Miria a throne worthy of her nickname. In Raki's opinion the massive throne that overlooked the speaker's chair several steps below and the rest of the chamber was worthy for someone nicknamed the "Diamond Queen".

The throne's back was twice as tall as the tallest person near it, and topping the throne was a flawless, circular sapphire the size of a man's head. It was surrounded by an array of long, sculpted jewels in the shape of flower petals. While the throne's seat and seatback were padded in rich red velvet, the rest of the throne was solid gold and fine gems. Its huge armrests were molded in the shape of sphinx heads, their eyes represented by large red rubies, and each held a flawless blue sapphire the size of a grapefruit in their gold jaws. Throughout the rest of the throne wing motifs and fine gems colored blue, yellow, red, green and white were displayed in a colossal display of artistic patterns and mind-blowing wealth.

There were times when he and Cid seemed to have the world in common with one another, and they were true friends after all. Yet he couldn't help but notice that increasingly Cid and Miria lived in a different universe when it came to money. They'd been as poor as anyone else just after the Organization had fallen. Miria had had the good fortune and foresight to invest in a 'hobby mine' near Pieta with several other claymores. The miners discovered a motherlode of diamonds so rich Raki had heard foreign merchants saying that the queen now owned half the world's diamond supply. As he observed the Parlement fill up with dignitaries for Miria's coronation, he could only pray it hadn't corrupted their morals.

* * *

Dietrich had only just managed to climb atop the pirate ship's mizzenmast and its rigging when a sailor came slashing at her. She had neither the balance nor the time to draw her claymore, so instead she whipped out a throwing knife. It took the young pirate in the throat, which he grasped at futilely before collapsing, falling, and hitting the deck below with a sickening crunch.

The sound of a bullet whizzing alerted Dietrich to the five pirates with muskets situated in the platform above her. She nearly fell off the mizzenmast when one fired and missed her feet, his shot blasting out splinters from the mizzenmast. The men were upon a platform two stories above her, which gave them a superb firing position against her. Unfortunately, because she lacked enough balance, using her claymore to simply chop off the mast below their platform wasn't an option. That left only taking them out the hard way.

One of the sailors had lit his musket's matchlock fuse, and swung the weapon in her direction. Dietrich was still faster, though it took three attempts, by which point the man had cocked the trigger to fire, before a knife gruesomely slammed into his forehead. He didn't even yell out as he slumped out of sight. The others took the hint and ducked down as she threw two more knives to keep them preoccupied. It was when she reached for another that her hands found only two knives left.

"Just my luck," Dietrich hissed. "Well, so much for that approach."

Not wishing to give the remaining four pirates in the platform time to prepare, Dietrich made a gutsy jump from the mizzenmast. It carried her up and with her best effort, she just managed to not fall after landing upon the narrow wooden platform railing. The platform itself was formed in a circle around the massive mast, and the four armed pirates within it came at her immediately. One attempted to stab her in the chest with his short sword, charging headlong at her. Dietrich merely re-directed his blade with a dagger and then used her strength to aid his momentum. A moment later the surprised and screaming pirate toppled over the edge and out of sight, his screams ending with a sharp thud seconds later.

The second of the men to come at her was older and wilier, and all he attempted to do was slash her open from hips to shoulders. For his efforts, Dietrich dodged by jumping off the platform edge and killing a third, bearded pirate with a devastating kick to the head. She drew her blade, turned and with a vicious three-quarter turn, took the head off her prior attacker. That left just the final pirate to deal with, but when she turned, he found him cowering in fear, huddled in a fetal position, his hands held up in surrender.

"Mercy, mercy please," he said.

This pirate was in truth not much more than teenage boy in a sailor's outfit, and he made a miserable sight, from his scruffy goatee to his scrawny frame. Though she did not know Bretonese, it was obvious he had surrendered. It was when Dietrich realized she hadn't even thought about the lives she'd ended previously that the sour truth of how much experience had changed her sunk in.

"Fine, you don't want to fight, then you won't need these will you?"

Dietrich grabbed his sword, a knife, and all the remaining muskets and threw them out and down into the sea far below. As she looked down, the deck of the pirate ship was suddenly swarmed by a huge press of marines and sailors from the CSS Cesarski. The pirates desperately fought back, the din of melee battle loud even from eight stories up.

A shout rang out, "Protect the captain!"

It took only a moment to locate Captain Ferrara, who, along with another sailor, were sword-dueling with three pirates. They were separated by a crush of men from much of the CSS Cesarski's crew. Dietrich began looking for a quick way down and found it in the form of a hook attached to a set of hanging weights via a rope and pulley. The sailor at Ferrara's side lunged at one of the pirates but was instead cut down.

Dietrich didn't wait for Ferrara to be cut down next. Instead she jumped to the platform's edge, grabbed hold of the hook dangling from the pulley, and pushed off the platform with both feet. Almost miraculously, her hare-brain scheme worked, for the pulley held her weight. With an effort, she chopped one of the weights holding her up. She began to move downwards, but at a snail's pace. Dietrich risked chopping one more weight, and this time she began moving down at a vigorous pace. She swung her body, timed her release of the hook, and with fortuitous luck, landed upon the back of a pirate threatening Ferrara.

He was slammed to the deck, unconscious, though he'd slowed her enough, and neither of her legs broke. They still hurt quite badly though, the sting of impact all too strong.

She yelled at curly-haired Ferrara, who was missing hit captain's hat, "Get down!"

With no more warning than that, Dietrich crouched and swung her sword high and three-quarters of a turn around her body. The two sailors were bisected, their innards and blood spraying out in a gruesome arc upon the deck. The corpses hit the deck in a gruesome fashion.

She had no time to savor her scheme paying off, for the next moment Dietrich felt a terrible sting in her behind followed by a trickle of warm blood. She swung her sword but found it bisecting nothing but air, her shooter being some five yards out of range. He was grasping two pistols, one of which was smoking from its recent discharge. He raised the other and took aim at her forehead.

There was a booming discharge of smoke around her suddenly, and somehow, Dietrich found herself to still be alive.

"I told you these things come in handy," Captain Ferrara commented, lowering the smoking pistol in his right hand. "You can thank me later."

Dietrich snapped, "Thank you? I'm the one who just saved your life—"

"We don't have time for this pettiness, Countess," Ferrara countered, pointing to the raging battle still on the deck. "You have to help Wen against their warrior."

"Their warrior?"

Dietrich looked to the battle and saw Wen Jintao battling another of her kind dressed like any other pirate. Only this warrior was wielding a huge double-bladed weapon against Wen's sword and dagger. One edge of the weapon featured a double-sided axe, while the other featured a long spearpoint. This male warrior had nearly waist-long blond hair and was heavily built. He was also emitting no yoma energy that she could detect.

'No wonder I couldn't feel his presence,' Dietrich thought.

She quickly felt the wound in her behind, found the bullet, and tossed it aside and did her best to heal while she jogged forward. The momentum was clearly in favor of the Cesarski's crew, who were pressing forward now with an almost irresistible force. That was an illusion though; if the enemy's warrior triumphed against her and Wen, there was every chance the pirates would win.

When a pirate took a swing at her as she rushed into the crowded battle towards Wen Jintao and the pirates' warrior, one pirate took a swing at her with his sword. She didn't have room to cut him in half in such a cramped space without taking several of the Cesarski's men with him. Instead Dietrich deflected the blow, raised her sword high and brought it flat-side down atop the man's head. He crumpled under the blow. She noticed the enemy warrior barely dodge a vicious diagonal slash from Jintao. His counter barely missed splitting open Jintao's head. Fearing the worst, she pressed on to help.

Dietrich lost sight of them as a throng of men came between them, battling for their lives. She had little time to spare, but alternatively punched one pirate down before deflecting the blade of another meant for a junior officer of the Cesarski. She caught another glimpse of Jintao and the enemy warrior battling up high on the foredeck. The men on both sides were keeping well clear of the action. But one pirate took advantage of the Lieutenant Commander's distraction and took out a pistol to fire upon him from the side.

Jintao reacted instantly, spinning and throwing his dagger at the same time to take out the pirate, and then dodged the pirate warrior's attempt to attack. Jintao tried to take advantage of his enemy's suddenly exposed neck with a stab of his sword. The pirate warrior was ready, first deflecting the sword with the spear-end of his weapon, while at the same time swinging around the axe. The parry both defeated Jintao's attack and ended with his beheading in one fluid movement. Dietrich was left breathless at the skill on display.

Those men of the Cesarski who were anywhere near the man fled back towards the main battle, while the few pirates left nearby shied away from attacking her. She was not in the best position, being in a lower position with her sword drawn. She knew it was going to take all of her skill to take down her opponent. She shifted into a combat stance and instead waited for him.

The pirate warrior turned and mocked her in Comnenian, "Scared, little one?"

Dietrich scoffed, "Only a fool would charge an enemy in a higher position."

"Clever girl," he complimented her.

Without any warning the larger warrior charged and leaped down from the forecastle at her. He brought his axe down at her, which Dietrich dodged by rolling to the left. She came to her feet and aimed at slash at the man's head. This he deflected with the same move she'd seen him use earlier to kill Jintao. Dietrich was ready for it, and used the pommel of her blade to deflect the attempted counterattack.

"You learn quick, but you should know a sword is no weapon to take on a man wielding an axe," her opponent stated, sounding bemused.

With that he came at her with a ferocity she'd never seen before, the overwhelming weight and strength behind the axe forcing her to retreat again and again, unable to do anything more than parry. She retreated up the steps to the small forecastle at the bow, but her positioning did not matter. The reach and weight of the axe was simply too overwhelming, and if she didn't think of a way to do more than parry, she'd soon go the way of Jintao. She flung one of her last remaining throwing knives at him, which he barely managed to deflect in time. This bought her enough time to aim a downwards swing at her enemy. He caught this on his weapon's center pole, which was evidently built from duratium the way it was holding up to her blade. With a surge in strength he pushed her and her blade up and away. Dietrich went soaring, painfully crashed through the forecastle's wooden railing, and landed painfully upon her back.

Her head ached and was fogged by impact upon the deck.

"The sea is no place for little warriors," the male slayer lectured, hopping down onto the main deck. "A lesson you sadly will not live to learn."

He raised his axe as he rushed forward. A blinding flash of smoke and fire hid the warrior from view for a second, but when it cleared, the male warrior had slumped to his knees, a gush of blood coming out from under his jaw. Dietrich's right hand kept shakily holding the discharged, smoking pistol she had nearly forgotten.

The male warrior gasped, "Have you no honor?"

He collapsed, face-first, onto the deck a moment later, his head at her feet, dead.

A shout went up, "The ship is ours!"

A ragged cheer went up behind Dietrich, followed by the sounds of pirates dropping their remaining weapons and surrendering. Dietrich for her part was just thankful to be alive, her heart beating hard. Captain Ferrara walked into view on her left side and surveyed the dead warrior at her feet.

He remarked dryly, "I did say you were going to need that pistol, didn't I?"


	2. Chapter 2: A Day to Remember

**Chapter 2:**

**A Day to Remember**

* * *

_The Rise of the Romanows_

_By C. Havel_

_Katarzyna Romanowa's life story is well-known to people inside and outside the Romanow Empire, but that "story" differs radically depending on the nationality of those portraying her. Imperial historians like to start her life story by pointing out that she was the great-granddaughter of Comnenian royal Roi Augustyn IV. Bretonese historians in contrast scoff at her "royal pretensions" and have a tendency to portray her background as that of an ambitious family determined to rise "beyond their station". So which family background correctly portrays Katarzyna's ancestry? While the Imperial historians are far more accurate, there are a few kernels of truth in Bretonese portrayals._

_Sixty-eight years before her ascension as Empress, Katarzyna's great-grandfather King Augustyn IV reigned over the mighty Kingdom of Comnenia. It was seen as one of two de facto leading states of the Alliance of Nations alongside the crumbling Bengali Empire. A kind, forgiving, intellectual sybarite, Augustyn was ill-suited to the kind of ruthless decision-making and austerity demanded by the Great War. His younger brother Stanislaw in contrast was a competent general used to privation, often drank with his troops, and was popular with both officers and the people. It was thus understandable that when Stanislaus overthrew his older brother in a bloodless coup and became Stanislaw II, it was accepted. Augustyn IV soon thereafter died in prison, but whether of illness or murder we do not know._

_He left behind a single five-year old daughter, Augustyna, who was stripped of her royal title and raised by a noble family of merchants selected for their loyalty to Stanislaw II. It was eighteen years later that a scandal rocked the household, for Augustyna was found to be pregnant. Although she never said the father's name, the best evidence points to one of the merchantman's youngest sons, Baron Henryk Romanow. Augustyna's son, Bernard, was raised as an illegitimate nobleman's son and ignored as a potential threat by Stanislaw II's son, Lech I, but contemporary accounts suggest Bernard was very aware of the open secret of his royal ancestry. He was technically an illegitimate commoner, though one of both royal birth. When his mother mysteriously disappeared not long after the ascension of Lech II, Bernard found himself drafted into the Alliance Army Officer Corps._

_He managed to survive his years in combat and fell in love with a dark-skinned Bantu woman named Faraja Luguongo. The couple was married 30 years before Katarzyna's ascension, while their daughter was born some 27 years before her rise to the throne. Katarzyna was treated more like a son than a daughter, according to contemporary accounts, possibly due to her being Bernard's only child. She was driven hard to succeed by her mother and tutors, especially right before her father got home from the war. Bernard inherited his father's estate upon his death and was reportedly uninterested in drawing attention to his ancestry and possibly superior claim to the Comnenian throne. He was technically only a commoner, after all, even if he was a commoner of royal blood. His wife apparently began dangerously boasting of her daughter's regal ancestry to friends. Few of them, when interviewed decades later, expressed much surprise when Bernard Romanow disappeared and…_

* * *

"We have seen a third of our peers laid off, our salaries frozen, even as our workload has jumped dramatically. The situation is becoming intolerable," a man grumbled.

James Havel had all the patience in the world for protecting the Romanow imperial family against threats. What he found more aggravating was when their servants had the temerity to produce a litany of complaints that forced the Cesarzowa to intervene. He was standing behind the Cesarzowa, who was seated in a chair at the bottom of a large amphitheater. They were deep inside the Visegrad Imperial Palace, and seated all around were countless palace servants who had all signed a letter of protest at the current state of affairs. Given his role as a Silver Guard, it was only natural he was in full armor and only steps away from the head of the family he was sworn to protect.

The silver-eyed empress raised a white-gloved hand, "I understand your objections an am fully prepared to do something about them."

Someone blurted out, "Then stop firing us!"

Katarzyna Romanowa rose to her feet and with a hint of threat in her voice fiercely reminded her subordinates, "If you want me to address your complaints, then that kind of address will end now, do I make myself clear to all of you?"

The thousands of servants in the amphitheater fell silent, utterly and totally cowed. It was not hard to see why. Katarzyna Romanowa was tall, even for a slayer, which was especially noticeable now, since she was wearing the stunning black and gold-braided uniform of an army officer. The trousers accentuated her statuesque proportions. Atop her head was an elegant black and gold tri-corn hat, but it was her face that truly caught the eye. She had big, observant silver eyes, fine blond eyebrows, a modest aquiline nose, and upon one of her well-proportioned cheeks was an arresting brand of a number, "3141", that she had carried since becoming a warrior. Hers was a face of beauty marred, arresting enough to catch the eye and scarred enough to make her look quite intimidating when angered.

Katarzyna left out a breath and relaxed before continuing, "I appreciate everything that you do for both the imperial family and the state. You call yourselves 'mere' maidservants, butlers, cooks, maids, and stable boys, but you are so much more. It is your work that allows the work of the state. When I receive a foreign emissary, it is the maidservants that keep everything clean and organized, our cooks who feed our guests, our butlers who handle protocol, our translators who make discussions possible, and our stable boys who look after our guests' horses and carriages. You are not just mere cleaners and cooks; your work is what enables our country to function each and every day."

'To think that she claims she's not a politician,' James thought, almost smiling. He along with a trio of other Silver Guards was arrayed around the Cesarzowa's elegant wooden chair, which had a solid oak back topped by a façade of wooden wolf heads.

"I do not mean to treat you badly, but you all know these are trying times," the Cesarzowa explained, sighing. "For over a century our land has been at war racking up a hideous amount of debt. We were victorious, but it came at a price, and that was a huge amount of debt and deficit. I can't make progress on our debt until this country's government lives within its means. That's why the army has been cut to five million men from fourteen, why the Crown has sold off sixteen palaces it didn't need, why our embassies have to make do with fewer staff and smaller budgets, and why I had to trim back the number of staff working here at the imperial palace in Visegrad. We are making good progress on curbing our deficit thanks to your sacrifice."

James could feel the toxic mood he sensed earlier easing with the Cesarzowa's charm offensive. Katarzyna may have been hated by her enemies, but she had a way with mollifying subordinates' and inspiring loyalty he'd never seen anyone else match.

The Cesarzowa looked any and all who dared straight back, her face full of understanding and empathy, "I know I push you hard, and I know what it's like to face hardship, but I ask you to face them now only because we have no other choice. You are our nation's last line of defense in protecting secrets and the secrets you keep are saving the lives of our fighting men, diplomats and spies abroad every day. I have not forgotten that it was because of servants serving in this palace that we have foiled five foreign spying attempts this year, nor have I forgotten that each and every day I trust the life of my son and heir to some of your capable hands. It may seem at times like your work is forgotten, but I can assure you, your job isn't just to be a cook or a maid, but to keep this realm running, well-governed and safe from our enemies."

James noticed, as he adjusted his heavy duratium armor, that a few of the maidservants had tears of appreciation in their eyes.

"What I can promise you going forward is there will be no more layoffs and that you will soon all be receiving a raise equal to 1/20th of your wages, because you deserve it," the Cesarzowa finished.

The amphitheater, lit from above by a huge skylight, bathed the Cesarzowa in sunlight as she soaked in the appreciative clapping of her servants. James however felt tense; there was a reason why he and five others were within a few paces of their sovereign. Although it was unlikely a palace servant would make an attempt on the Cesarzowa's life, there had already been two attempts on her life. The Silver Guard took no chances now; everyone in the room had been searched for weapons before being let in, but even that was no guarantee of safety. Her enemies badly wanted her dead because she was the most devastatingly effective foe any of them had ever faced.

A silver-eyed lady-in-waiting, dressed in an elegant, full-length, dark green dress walked across the amphitheatre's marble floor and whispered in the empress' left ear.

"Of course I'll get to that, Alejandra," the Cesarzowa commented sideways before turning her attention back to her audience. "I am sorry I must leave you all now. I know things have been tough, but I promise you, there will be better days ahead. I bid you all a fond farewell."

With a wave, the empress turned to leave, and a small crush of well-wishers surged forward. Those who had been more critical seemed mollified and hung back, easing his concern, but only modestly.

James snapped, "Link arms!"

The full armored Silver Guards immediately formed an armored barrier around the Cesarzowa as she walked towards the main exit.

"Gods bless you, Cesarzowa," a maidservant cried out, extending out a hand.

James' heart skipped a beat when the Cesarzowa held out her own hand and gave her admirer a friendly handshake. After a few friendly handshakes, an endearing smile and a few waves to the crowd, he was able to breathe a sigh of relief when she exited the room. Surrounded by Alejandra, himself and two score Silver Guards, they set off into the maze of hallways that made up the grand and opulent imperial palace of Visegrad.

It was clear from the way the Cesarzowa was walking quickly through the marble &amp; fresco-adorned halls of the palace that she had something on the mind.

James spoke up as he walked just behind her right shoulder, "Cesarzowa, I must request that you stop with this 'working the room'. I cannot guarantee your safety with you—"

Katarzyna sounded bemused but didn't turn to address him, "A Cesarzowa can ill-afford to have those looking after her child to be unhappy with her. What would you have me do, not touch or be seen by anyone, James? I know I pay you to protect me, but a Cesarzowa must above all be seen by her subjects."

'Useless like always,' James silently fumed. 'I swear she has a fatalist streak.'

Katarzyna's neatly tied ponytail swayed as she turned her head left to her lady-in-waiting walking alongside, "Now then, Alejandra, what other business was there?"

Alejandra , or as James knew her, Alejandra Capriles, was a shorter-than-average, svelte-looking silver-eyed warrior who had been granted the title of "Cesarzowa's Lady-in-waiting". In truth, Alejandra acted more like the Cesarzowa's personal aide and chief of staff than a lady-in-waiting. James was pretty sure the title was only anachronistic because Katarzyna's husband, Wenceslaus, was so fond of the ideals of chivalry.

Alejandra did not smile but instead showed the Cesarzowa a paper, "Ambassador Tuluzy requests permission to fund the giving of a coronation present to Miria, the new Reine of Toulouse. He states that a gift for the coronation is considered customary from one monarch to another and that to not give—"

"I get his point," Katarzyna snapped, losing patience. "You may tell him we will fund a gift to the new monarch, but it must be within reason. The last thing we need is to be giving away our treasury to a woman who is already fabulously wealthy. I will leave it to his discretion…"

Alejandra scribbled furiously with a pen on a notepad as the party turned right into the palace's grand hall. A number of surprised foreign dignitaries and guests rushed to make room for them, several of them bowing from the waist respectfully.

A chorus of obsequious "Cesarzowa" and "Your Imperial Majesty" rang out as the Cesarzowa acknowledged them with a simply reply, "Good day, gentlemen."

James eyed the well-dressed dignitaries warily before his eyes turned back to the magnificent sight before them. The Visegrad Palace's Grand Hall was truly awe-inspiring, for it stood some twelve stories from arched ceiling to marble floor. It was lit by a long line of arched stained glass windows, each one depicting a scene of the glorious history of the Comnenian royal family, whom the Cesarzowa claimed as ancestors. These windows let in a glorious cascade of light in, showing the Grand Hall's features in the best possible way. The Grand Hall was almost as wide as a stadium, and clustered at either edge of its walls were marble statues of the Kings and Queens of the Kingdom of Comnenia facing inwards. The kings stood on one side, while their queens, of whom there were definitely more, graced the opposite side.

They were just walking past the statue of Stanislaus II when Katarzyna stopped and turned back to Alejandra, "Forget what I said about him using his discretion to get Reine Miria a coronation gift. Get her a full-length dress worthy of a royal, preferably black with gold trim, in the Busani style."

"Of course, Cesarzowa," Alejandra acknowledged, scribbling furiously before brushing aside a few bangs from the tip of her pointy nose.

Katarzyna commented, "Gods know she needs it after what I saw her wearing when I met her. I swear she was about to fall out of that dress she wore. A royal should not be dressed in such a slutty manner."

Alejandra interjected, "Your Grace, that style of dress is the fashion in Toulouse."

The Cesarzowa shook her head as they kept walking towards a grand entranceway to another, smaller hall, "A woman in power ought to know better than to flaunt herself in such a way. It's the surest way not to be taken seriously, especially a monarch."

James didn't say a word, but he was still fairly sure few people would dare to not take a silver-eyed female monarch seriously due to eye-watering dresses. He heard the noise of children at play and suddenly a quintet of silver-eyed children came racing out of the entranceway.

A brown-skinned male Silver Guard warned as he caught one by the shoulders, "Easy now there, kids. You shouldn't go running around and run into your Cesarzowa."

"It's alright, Lewis, they're children," the empress instructed. "Let them play."

The silver-eyed children rushed past, oblivious, and James noticed that one of the children had long, curly white hair.

'I'm going to have to rein Chloe in when I get off today,' he noted disapprovingly.

Chloe was his only child, and although he kept making it his goal to instill some discipline in her, he never managed it. He hustled back to the Cesarzowa's side after noticing he was lagging behind. A pair of golden, embossed doors opened before them, and standing at opposite sides of a circular table were two members of the Romanow family arguing with one another. James could instantly read the annoyance of the empress at this situation.

A silver-eyed female with an ornate hairbun was hectoring a much larger man, "You are in no position to order me around, Wenceslaus, particularly given you have absolutely no claim to the throne but through your—"

Katarzyna interjected, "Are the two of you quite done wasting your time arguing?"

The argument died instantly, leaving the two participants in an uneasy truce.

"Apologies dear," Wenceslaus apologized, "but a certain individual made claims that I considered unbecoming of a Romanow."

Wenceslaus looked like he had been built out of trees turned into flesh. He was a muscularly built man, a fact that was obvious even though he was covered as he was by a fine golden vest, black trousers, and loose white sleeves. He had a jaw that, according to one female Silver Guard James had heard commenting, "Looked like it was shaped from an anvil." He kept a well-trimmed brown-blond beard and looked every bit an emperor, especially given he stood around 2 meters tall by James' estimation. Wenceslaus was perhaps the strongest warrior in history, which had made him a natural match for a silver-eyed empress.

Wenceslaus' female opponent scoffed, "I—"

The Cesarzowa interjected, "Am not about to waste more of my time on this, I trust, Bastia? We have more pressing issues than your disagreements. Indira Raheja, who tried to kill members of this family, has been located deep in the Bengal."

Bastia Romanowa murmured darkly, "I remember, Your Imperial Majesty."

Bastia had every right to find the memory terrible, for she'd been giving birth to her twin boys when the elite warriors Indira Raheja, Minhae Choung Park, Sergei Djugashvili and their supporters had attempted a coup. It ended with Sergei dead by the empress' hand, Indira fleeing northeast to the Bengal, and Minhae fleeing west and then overseas. Bastia understandably had been advocating the assassination of all the remaining traitors, especially Indira and Minhae.

The doors to the room were closed, after which the empress' de facto aide Alejandra quietly went around the room handing out a small sliver of papers to Bastia and Wenceslaus.

The empress seated herself in a comfortable chair and folded her hands together, "Indira Raheja, our spies tell us, has taken refuge with the Nawab of Bamiya, north of the Bengali Kush. She's gathered nearly two hundred traitorous silver-eyed warriors under her command and believes her services to the Nawab will keep her safe. She is gravely mistaken."

"You mean to have her assassinated," Wenceslaus surmised, sounding unhappy.

"I mean to have her brought to justice," Katarzyna answered, unperturbed. "Minhae and her minions were responsible for the deaths of seven hundred and three innocent people. I receive letters from their relatives daily, asking me when those responsible for their terrible loss will ever be avenged. I am not about to let them down."

Bastia surprisingly objected, "Just how do we intend to get our assassins past two hundred pairs of silver eyes and the Nawab's army?"

Katarzyna smiled, "We're not using assassins."

Wenceslaus sounded relieved when he asked, "Then what is the plan?"

"It's very simple," the empress explained, "I've tired of Nawab Sharif's little game with employing our traitors. It's time he was permanently replaced. Marshal Singh will be leading a hundred thousand man army and five hundred warriors into the Bengal to see that it happens."

Wenceslaus pointed out, "The Bretonese won't be happy. The West Bengal Trading Company's lands border the Nawab's; they'll see this is as a provocation."

"I don't care if I'm not exactly making them happy," Katarzyna quietly reminded him. "This is about justice, not what the Bretonese feel about how it's obtained."

Bastia asked in a silky-smooth voice, "And what if Indira Raheja attempts to flee to the Bretonese?"

"Then you and your 'hunting party' of Silver Guards will get the opportunity to remind Indira that a Romanow never forgets," Katarzyna replied in a cold voice.

* * *

"Claire, Claire, over here!"

Claire turned her head left in the direction of the female voice. She had a hard time seeing through the crush of dignitaries and their wives in the Parlement's western gallery. It took a moment to see the silver-eyed lady waving over the crush of the Rabonese crowd. She was noticeable through the crowd by her scarlet dress with white lace. Claire weaved her way through the crowd until finally they came face to face with her long-haired former comrade.

"Audrey, sorry, I didn't see you," Claire greeted her friend.

They exchanged kisses on the cheek as greetings, which seemed to transfix a few foreign ladies nearby. Claire gave them a quick stare, which promptly ended that.

Claire gasped upon seeing Audrey's flat belly, "How in the world did you manage it? You gave birth just two weeks ago."

Claire felt envious; it had taken her six weeks after Dominique had been born to lose her belly flab through rigorous exercise and training.

Audrey glanced down, "Well I worked out, Claire."

Audrey paused to swat away a bang from her aquiline nose before whispering, "But to be honest, half of it was just that I lose weight easily. The other half was all Andrei."

It took a moment for Audrey's words to sink in, but Claire found herself blushing nonetheless. Audrey, whom she was becoming close with, immediately picked up on this.

Audrey quietly lectured, her words unheard in the din around them, "Blushing? Really, Claire? Weren't you the one telling me it's hard to let a day go by without at least two flings with Raki? You didn't have a problem discussing these sorts of things last week."

"I'm sorry, Audrey, it's just…"

"Come on, I can tell something's wrong," Audrey commented, leading Claire forward by a hand to a small area fenced off by a knee-high banister.

Inside this area were six plush black and gold seats, each adorned with a golden, double-headed imperial eagle. Claire immediately recognized it as the exclusive seating area for the Romanow Ambassador's party, although no one was seated in it yet.

"It's alright, take a seat," Audrey reassured, dropping Claire into a seat while she sat herself upon the seat next to it. "I'll tell Andrei that you're our honored guest. Oh, silly me, let's not forget about Raki either. Speaking of Raki, just where is he?"

Audrey had always been at picking up on her moods, so Claire instead angrily confessed, "I caught him staring down Miata's cleavage like some sort of glutton. I was in the same carriage and it was like I barely existed! I've had three children by him and he can't keep his eyes off another female!"

"Easy, Claire, we wouldn't want her to hear you," Audrey replied, pointing her index finger and tapping it upon the banister.

Claire leaned over to find Miata and her husband Raul walking around amongst the gallery seating a story below below sharing hands with their well-wishers. Claire felt a twinge of unease upon noticing how transfixed all the men were by Miata's beauty. Miata had the look said to be most desired by Rabonese men. She had an almost angelic face, a long neck, a voluptuous body and a bosom any woman would envy, a thin waist and wider hips, and long, beautifully toned legs. Claire knew from the mirror Raki bought her she had nowhere near as many of the features desired by most Rabonese men, a fact that had given her nightmares.

"We may not be able to compete with that," Audrey quietly commented, "but so long as she's married all you have to do is keep Raki away from the temptation. Speaking of which, did I not warn you against accepting a carriage ride from her?"

"I'm sorry," Claire apologized, "I should have listened."

"That's what you get for ignoring my advice," Audrey lectured quietly, the din covering their conversation from being eavesdropped.

"I'm not letting Raki get away with this; I've decided he's not getting anything from me for the rest of the week," Claire declared, crossing her arms upon noticing Raki walk into the upper gallery on the chamber's opposite side.

Audrey leaned in close, "Whoa, let's slow down and think about this, Claire. Your husband is one of four silver-eyed males on this entire island. What do you think will happen if you hold out on him and one of your fifteen unmarried peers hears he's unhappy with you?"

Claire felt a sinking feeling in her stomach, which gurgled noisily.

"Precisely my point," Audrey agreed. "You don't want to be like Galk. He married for sin, Claire. The whole point of a marriage is to procreate, not just to enjoy married life's conjugal benefits. That's the only explanation for his stupid decision to marry four claymores with whom he can't conceive."

'God I hope she never says this to Miria,' Claire thought.

Cid was not silver-eyed, and therefore could not father children on the Reine, a situation that raised all sorts of awkward questions, not least about the succession.

Audrey continued ranting, "Galk's sinful ways got back to him eventually. Marriages built on sin never last. That's what caused his wife Celestyna to get an annulment and leave him for Sonjay."

Sonjay was a male warrior who had come to Rabona as an exile and was said to be fairly handsome for a "brown-skinned guy" according to Helen. He'd also proven to be virile; Celestyna was already with child.

An angry female voice retorted, "Why don't you comment on someone else's husband?"

Claire turned to find a red-brown haired female warrior wearing a simple white dress with short sleeves standing just outside the Romanow Imperial box. It was Galk's youngest silver-eyed wife, Clarice.

"I'll comment on whomever I like," Audrey snapped, defiantly holding her head high. "Particularly a man who never feels he has enough wives and can't have children with any of them."

"Girls, come on, let's not get carried away here," Claire warned.

Her attempts to cool them down were as folly as trying to freeze a volcano.

"You know what," Clarice hissed, showing remarkable self-confidence, "I always thought you were a stuck-up, priggish little asshole."

Audrey, infuriated, cursed, "Why you little bitch, if you—"

A stern male voice interrupted, "What is going on here?"

The crowd above them, all safely up the stairs or seated on higher level seats, parted to reveal a golden haired male warrior. It was Audrey's husband Andrei, who was holding their eldest son and looking quite unhappy as he clutched a young child. Andrei Tuluzy was the Imperial Romanow Ambassador to the Roidom of Toulouse; Katarzyna Romanowa's top man in Rabona. He was built leaner than Raki, his hair short but for long bangs, his hawkish face marked by fine goatee, and Claire could swear he moved with the same sort of uncanny silkiness the late elite warrior Rafaela once had. His son looked to be no older than three years old and was clutching his father tightly, looRoi first at his mother and then Clarice.

Audrey and Clarice seemed to know at once that the spat would not continue. Claire knew Audrey would never dare do anything outrageous in front of her son, while Clarice was probably only too well aware it'd be foolhardy to say anything with Andrei so close. Andrei Tuluzy was, after all, reputed to be a former member of the feared Silver Guard.

"Let's go, Clarice," Anastasia directed, appearing by her sister-wife's side and leading her away.

The crowd parted to let them through as they climbed the stairs and passed by Andrei's party. Another pair of warriors, one male and one female, dressed, like Andrei, in their ceremonial finest, appeared on the stairs just behind him. Andrei handed his son off to the other silver-eyed male behind him and approached. Audrey, breathing in for a moment, looked at her husband with a face that suggested her mood was somewhere between panic and shame.

"It's not what you think, Andrei," Audrey tried to explain.

Andrei walked down the stairs in a silky, silent manner towards his wife. He grabbed Audrey by the arm and took her out of earshot of most of the onlookers. There Andrei turned to his wife with a look that brooked no objections.

Andrei murmured loud enough for Claire to hear, "Nie testuj mojej cierpliwości, Audrey. Jeśli to się powtórzy, nie będzie można dać na zewnątrz naszej ambasady."

Whatever Andrei said it immediately shut up his wife, who turned pale and meekly nodded in submission to his judgment. His indecipherable words piqued Claire's curiosity; a part of her badly wanted to know what he was saying in Comnenian. Whatever he said, it was clear to her as to which of the Tuluzys "wore the pants" in their relationship.

'Just another phrase I have, thanks to Helen,' Claire thought, half bemused.

Andrei turned his hawkish nose away from Audrey and towards her, and at once, his demeanor completely changed.

"Ahh, my dear Claire, it is a pleasure to see you again," he complimented, bowing low and kissing her hand before rising again. "I must compliment your stately fashion sense. So few women here in Rabona seem to have the decency to not bare their cleavage; I'm relieved to see at least a few like yourself have more common sense and dignity. Merci."

"You are most kind," Claire replied, trying to but not stifling a budding smile.

Her elegant black dress hugged her body but did not offer up the kind of v-cut that nearly all her silver-eyed peers and their human compatriots cut in their dresses. It was not often that claymores agreed with her sense of fashion; the rules for fashion in Rabona seemed to be, as Helen put it, "if you've got it, flaunt it".

"Audrey tells me you needed someplace for the twins to play," Andrei stated.

Claire merely nodded.

"As it happens, my son would be delighted to have Teresa, Victor and Dominique come over to the embassy. It'd be no trouble, really, Audrey and our staff could look after them. You say the word, my dear, and I can arrange everything."

"That would be lovely," was all Claire managed.

"I'll see to it then," Andrei curtly replied. "You're more than welcome to sit with us in the imperial box. You've met Vice Ambassador Lazarov already", at which a long-haired, silver-eyed man in similar garb next to Andrei bowed and kissed Claire's hand, "and of course you've met Audrey's other dear friend, Valencia."

'Strange… I don't remember Audrey ever calling Valencia a 'dear friend,' Claire mentally noted. 'I wonder why.'

"Bonjour, Claire," Valencia effusively greeted her, giving Claire a hearty handshake.

Valencia was a short, petite female claymore infamous for both her ridiculously ornate hairbuns and her total lack of shame in talking about intimate matters. Claire was relieved to see her compatriot was wearing a less-than-revealing full-length red dress of a truly foreign fashion. It had almost no sleeves and a high collar, and was decorated by countless golden dragons down one side.

"If you'd like, I can send someone to extricate your husband and have him join us," Andrei offered, pointing across the chamber to the gallery opposite.

It took a moment to spot Raki, and hardly any time at all to notice he was talking to Ruud van Willems, the tall and always controversial Premier of the state.

"Best not to bother him when it comes to politics," Claire advised.

"As you wish," Andrei agreed before continuing to talk to her in a whisper, "but may I ask why you're so worried as to strap a knife to your left thigh?"

'How did he notice that? I was certain no one would notice,' Claire thought.

"How did you…"

Andrei quietly confided, "My dear, I was once a master at concealing blades."

* * *

"Isn't it a marvelous sight, my dear Katrin?"

The young woman, disguised as a nun, leaned over and hissed at him, "Master Louvre, I must really object to this public of a meeting place. We are too exposed."

Rubel ignored her entreaties as his eyes swept over the Parlement chamber. He was seated at the chamber's grand organ platform high up, well away from the light, opposite the chamber's magnificent diamond-studded throne.

Slender Katrin tapped his left hand where it lay on the platform's banister, her voice deadly serious, "I still think this meeting place is madness. What if one of your warriors recognizes you?"

Rubel turned his head to the left and threw Katrin a devious smile, "They would if the light was worse, my dear, but all that daylight fouls up their night vision, so ironically we're safer right now than we would be at night."

The chamber's massive organ was located as high as possible, near the upside-down v of the chamber's ceiling. Below, on either wall, were long lines of arched, stained glass windows through which poured a cascade of light. This was in sharp contrast to where he and Katrin stood, in the dim light near the ceiling.

"Is it really necessary for us to come to Miria Malaga's coronation, Master?"

Rubel touched his bent nose and languidly answered, "My dear, events these days are moving so fast, and there's just no substitute for being on scene to see them."

Katrin nipped back, "Then why are we not in Haaraleen?"

Rubel smiled and prodded his subordinate gently, "Now, now, my dear, must you spoil the current celebrations by bringing up such unseemly things as Violetta Angevin hiring an army to overthrow our 'dear' Reine Miria?"

A note of disgust entered Katrin's voice, "How can they be celebrating here today after what happened yesterday?"

Rubel sighed, for even spies had their limits, "I suspect they do not know, and the few that do don't want to spoil the party."

Katrin venomously spat, "The entire town of Frontenac was—"

"There will be justice for them, one way or another, my dear," Rubel assured her. "If not by the people of this island, then by those who will soon be here."

"Violetta Angevin does not stand a chance of conquering this island with a measly squad of nine warriors, even if she does hire 15,000 mercenaries. It's not like the Kingof Toulouse is lacking for money," Katrin commented with an air of disgust.

"You'd be right," Rubel remarked, clutching his hands and leading against the banister as he watched the elite of Rabonese society filter in below, "if that was all. There was some news this morning from our spies there. Violetta's aiming for to land a much bigger fish."

Rubel handed his protégée a slip of folded paper, which Katrin eagerly took from his outstretched arm and walked off to read. He knew the instant when Katrin's eyes reached the latest news.

Katrin exclaimed in Allemanian, "Das kann nicht wahr sein!"

Rubel amused himself by responding in Toulousaine, "If you were Violetta Angevin and trying to put your son on his father's throne, would you not try it?"

Katrin shot him a look as if he'd been holding out on her, "Du weißt, was das bedeutet."

Rubel scratched his face before responding in Allemanian, "Oh, ich weiß, was es bedeutet. Die weltbesten Schwertkämpfer könnte auf diese Insel kommen. Ich fühle mich fast leid für meinen ehemaligen Untergebenen."

Katrin scoffed in Toulousaine, "I've known you for 4 years, and you've never once said you felt sorry for your subordinates."

Rubel responded in the same language, "I just rarely express it openly, my dear."

Katrin tilted her head to one side and said, "Minhae Choung Park."

Rubel nodded as he watched the crowds below swell and echoed Katrin, "Minhae Choung Park. Now there's a person I did not think I'd ever welcome."

Katrin pronounced her judgment, "Die Krieger haben hier keine Chance. Sie werden sterben, wenn sie Minhae kämpfen."

Rubel remarked, "You're assuming it'll be one-on-one."

Katrin retorted, "Es ist Minhae Choung Park. Wissen Sie wie viele Minhae hat—"

Rubel cut her off in Allemanian, uninterested in talking further on the matter, "Vergessen Sie nie, Katrin, die unsere wirklichen Feinde sind hier. Minhae kommt nicht auf diese Insel, weil sie hier sein will. Sie kommt, weil die Romanows einen Preis auf Minhaes Kopf gesetzt haben. Vielleicht können wir sie zu unserem Vorteil nutzen. Aber zuerst müssen wir die Romanows zu infiltrieren jede Organisation auf dieser Insel zu stoppen, bevor sie entdecken, das ich bin immer noch am Leben."

"Monsieur van Gogh?"

Rubel nearly jumped in surprise at being addressed by a third party given the subjects he and Katrin were discussing.

A tall, silver-eyed priestess with long, straight black hair and plain white robes was standing at the balcony's entranceway.

"I apologize if I startled either of you," the priestess atoned.

The priestess' robes were long and flowing, and under the robes she wore a pair of striking red slippers and red gloves. The look on her hawk-nosed face suggested she had not understood a word of what he and Katrin had been saying.

Katrin recovered, "It's quite alright. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name, Priestess—"

The woman gave Katrin a gentle smile, "It's Priestess Amelie, of the Order of Priestesses for the Poor. Archbishop Galatea sends her warmest regards to you, Monsieur van Gogh, and asks that you start to play within a few minutes, if you have no objections."

In one of the great ironies of his life, Rubel had found that his modest disguises, flowing black robes and new glasses had quite fooled Galatea. Of course he'd never really worked with Galatea, so her lack of recognizing him was no great shock.

"Of course not, priestess," Rubel assured. "Now then, I suppose I best start warming up."

He walked over to the plush organ bench, which faced the wall instead of the chamber, sat down and stretched out his fingers. It was the one great surprise in his life; he'd never imagined all of the fruitless organ playing he'd done in his youth would pay off so handsomely for his spy career many decades later.

The priestess nodded goodbye to them and departed down the long flight of stairs.

Katrin asked, "Do you still think Archbishop Galatea will last the year?"

Rubel mused, "I would not underestimate the will for self-preservation. She may have four bishops unhappy with her being a silver-eyed female in charge of the church, but they don't have an excuse to overthrow her yet."

Katrin turned back to the banister and looked down as Rubel began loudly testing keys on the organ. She turned her head towards him, evidently with something on her mind.

"It's a shame really, about that order of priestesses," Katrin remarked. "They try to protect the poor and all anyone on this island seems to worship is making money."

Rubel shrugged, "That may change soon enough. Given the events in Frontenac, we're going to need better access to the church than we had prior. I hear you're being made our dear Archbishop's chief aide next week, Katrin."

Katrin's eyes narrowed, "I've heard nothing of the sort."

"Well you heard wrong," Rubel laughed, "for I, the Archbishop's dearest and most God-gifted organist, have said a few words on your behalf."

"We'll see about that," Katrin scoffed.

Rubel looked over to see Katrin frowning at the nearly full chamber below.

"What's wrong, my dear?"

"Nothing's wrong, I'm just thinking," Katrin confided, her eyes surveying those below.

"About?"

"When I started here I didn't think it mattered. But that changed ever since I learned that it was the warriors on this island who helped Katarzyna Romanowa survive. You know how many of my peers and comrades have died because of her?"

"More than I dare count," Rubel answered while beginning to play a popular hymn.

"They're all responsible," Katrin spat, looRoi at those below, "and I intend to see them suffer as much as we have from Katarzyna."

* * *

Raki was watching the last few stragglers from Parlement scurry into the chamber when the organ began playing far above, its player out of sight due to being almost directly above. He was seated in the upper gallery and had enough luck that he didn't have people seated directly next to him. There were however hundreds of people on his side of the chamber dressed in their finest, so it was hardly quiet.

"Make way for the Roi!"

Below, Raki saw Cid, Miria's husband, dressed even more elaborately than before, this time adding a royal ermine cape. As he walked down the chamber's center aisle towards the throne, Raki noticed he was escorted by the Parlement speaker and both the Garde du Parlement and the more elaborately dressed Garde Royale.

"So the ceremony has finally begun," a familiar male voice interjected.

Raki turned left to see a tall, hawk-nosed man with black hair drop himself into the seat directly to his left. The man had an air of authority about him, and given his elaborate black and white vest, fine black pants and long brown boots, he was clearly not doing badly.

"Monsieur van Willems, what a surprise," Raki greeted his old acquaintance.

Ruud van Willems was the Premier du Parlement, the effective head of government for the Kingdom of Toulouse. Miria may have been the monarch, but she was a constitutional monarch with limited powers and involvement with the day-to-day running of the kingdom. She was more concerned with big-picture strategic matters, while the man who truly controlled the minutiae of government was Monsieur van Willems.

"Bonjour, Monsieur von Lautrec," Ruud replied as he folded one leg over the other, a serious look upon his face.

Raki cut to the chase, "Why the solemn face, Ruud? This is your moment of triumph."

Ruud shook his head and leaned over to talk more quietly as the procession moved along, "You know as well as I do it was your idea to put her on the throne."

It was a rare moment of honesty from Ruud van Willems, a politician who in Raki's experience was as good at stretching the truth as anyone. Then again though, with the public so eager to hear what they wanted to hear, those politicians who were more truthful often found themselves fighting for their political lives.

Ruud almost whispered, "I'm here to make a deal."

'_Ah, so now we come to it_,' Raki thought.

"Raki, you may not know it, but our nascent democracy is in danger," Ruud began rather melodramatically.

Raki remembered Raul Malaga's words from earlier, "Is this about taxes?"

Ruud's eyes narrowed, "Regrettably, yes. Raki, you may self-deprecate, but anyone with half a brain knows you are the leader of the third-largest bloc in Parlement behind mine and Monsieur Galacon's."

Raki wavered, "Well I don't know about the only leader, Ruud. Monsieur Chretien is pretty influential as well."

The Premier scoffed, "You're not fooling anyone, Raki. Chretien follows your lead."

Raki favored Ruud with a smile, "Only some of the time. Might I ask what taxation has to do with dangers to our democracy?"

"It has to do with the royals," Ruud said quietly.

Raki was pretty sure he knew why Ruud dared not say anything out loud. Saying anything bad about the Reine or her family was a sure way for a politician to get himself booed and thrown out of office by his voters.

Ruud handed him a paper while explaining by talking while gesturing at it, "You know the deal we made with Her Royal Majesty. In exchange for funding 3 out of every 10 Francs of government spending, she is exempted from taxation."

"Yes, and you will recall there was not a single no vote on the measure, Ruud," Raki reminded him, "politicians like being able to lower taxes for people."

Ruud exhaled, "The government is in deficit this year by about a 10th of its expenditures. I thought we would have the revenue to cover it, but we do not. The Roi doesn't want the government to run such a deficit, so he's demanding we either cover it by cutting spending and hiking taxes or we have to make another deal with the royals for them to fund it."

From below, Raki heard the Parlement Speaker announce in a gravelly voice, "Make way their Royal Highnesses, Princesse Natalie and Princesse Renée!"

Renée was Miria's first cousin, a fact only discovered a few years ago, when they'd scoured the Organization's records. Given that Miria's only other daughter, Natalie, was both younger and adopted, Renée was thus first in line to the throne.

"Well they can sure dress themselves," Raki muttered.

Princesse Renée was dressed in the Rabonese style, which meant she wore a dress with a high collar and a plunging neckline that revealed plenty of cleavage. The style emphasized a form-fitting, tight top with puffy shoulders and a flowing, full-length gown over the legs. It was a wonder Renée wasn't tripping all over herself just walking in it in Raki's opinion. The dress appeared to be a mixture of silk and cotton and was colored royal blue, golden yellow and regal green, the colors of the Royal House of Malaga.

A second after Renée had appeared, her adoptive sister appeared, both of them walking in tandem with a pair of ceremonially armored Garde Royale, one after the other. Natalie was dressed much the same as Renée, but was slimmer, shorter and had her hair in a long, shoulder-length wavy style. Like Renée, she wore elaborates jeweled earrings on both ears as well as a suggestive necklace that dipped into the top of her cleavage.

'Say what you will about the Rabonese style, but no one can deny that it's eye-catching,' Raki thought to himself. 'I certainly wouldn't mind if Claire dressed like that on occasion.'

"Well you have to admit, Ruud, whatever you think of the House of Malaga, they sure know how to dress," Raki commented to the Premier.

Ruud scowled a little, "Yes, and they'll be able to afford all that 'style' with ease. Their shares in their mining company are worth eight times what they were worth when Rabona's stock market debuted last year. Not only that, but from what I hear they're branching out and investing in new businesses at a prolific rate."

"I would expect nothing less when you have someone as money-savvy as the Roi Cid managing the Reine's finances for her," Raki pointed out.

Ruud paused a moment as he watched the princesses take their seats to either side of the throne before edgily replying, "Yes, and he's playing hardball again on upping their funding. He tells me that in exchange for the funding, he gets to determine where it goes."

Raki sniffed in amusement, "Would you say otherwise if it were your money, Ruud?"

Ruud came to the point, "He insists that we allow them a thousand Garde Royale instead of 500, he wants the navy to be majority funded by the royal family, and he wants the monarchy to gain the right to dissolve Parlement and call new elections. Raki, if I agreed to those terms, our democracy would be on the slippery slope. They already pay for 4/10ths of the navy and a third of the army. Ask yourself this, who would you rather have control the funding over our military? The people who were duly elected to represent their voters or an unelected monarchy? I know you nominated to put the Reine on the throne, but if we give up majority funding Raki, the army won't obey the whims of the voters, they'll obey the Reine. From there it's only a matter of time until we elected politicians wouldn't matter at all."

"I don't think you need to worry about that with Reine Miria, Ruud," Raki noted, trying to calm the Premier down. "She's a very generous person."

"And her generousity could kill our democracy in its crib if we let it," Ruud shot back. "There are politicians who would like nothing more than to strike a deal with Reine Miria to fund the whole government if it'll let them cut taxes to zero. If you ask nothing from your citizens, why would you ever need a Parlement?"

Raki scoffed, "The Reine couldn't afford to fund the whole government."

Ruud countered, "She could afford to do it twice over. I've seen their finances, Raki."

A herald dressed in a gaudy royal blue and golden yellow outfit began reading aloud from a parchment from in front of the throne, "Dear people of Toulouse, we are gathered here today to proclaim a new ruler, a just ruler, for our Kingdom. Coming to this moment was not easy, but—"

Raki turned back to Ruud, "So what do you want me to do?"

Ruud was blunt, "Give me the votes to raise the revenues or this democracy you cherish will become a sham."

"Why can't you just cut the expenditures?"

Ruud held open his hands, sound exasperated as he explained, "The only place I can cut that much is the military, and if I did that, I'd risk the nation's security and lose enough of my supporters that I might lose a vote of no-confidence. Do that, and Gaspar Galacon will be in power in a month."

Raki felt his stomach gurgle in displeasure at that idea.

Gaspar Galacon was the brother of Francois Galacon, someone Raki had long known by the name of "Galk". Both brothers were devout members of the Orthodox Church who had turned against the Inquisition, leaving them with ample amounts of popularity. Galk was not particularly involved in politics, but his brother Gaspar was quite the opposite. Gaspar led the largest opposition bloc of Parlement members, and all of them were quite devoted to their leader's advocating of hardline Orthodox positions. Positions like requiring people of different faiths other than Orthodox to register with the government or face deportation. Given he wasn't Orthodox, Raki could well imagine what Gaspar might try to do against him and many others should he ever take power.

"Well at least there's the Reine in between him and going totally wild," Raki pointed out. "It's partly why I nominated her to be on the throne in the first place."

Ruud grimly acknowledged that but warned, "That may be, but do you want to take that risk? My majority is down to 3 members, Raki. I need your support. You know what will happen if you don't back me."

Raki sighed; if there was one thing a politician didn't want to do, it was to raise taxes on their voters. He resolved to set a condition that would minimize the pain.

Raki scratched his nose before offering, "Ruud, I'll make you a deal. I will guarantee the majority of my bloc backs your government on two conditions. The first is that half the revenue must come from tariffs on imports."

Ruud, predictably, pushed back, "You are destroying good work with tariffs, Raki. Have you never read the 'Great Wealth of Nations'?"

Raki noticed the people around them were beginning to notice who was in their midst, which was leading to an almost equal measure of glares and idolizing stares.

He did his best to ignore the former, countering, "Ruud, my constituents are screaming about foreign merchants driving them out of business every day, the huge rise in property prices since they came, the rise in homelessness and petty crime, the widening gap between the haves and have-nots, and you worry a small tariff will cost jobs?"

Ruud was adamant, "Free trade will create more work in the long run, Raki. It's called creative destruction. The inefficient are driven out of business, leaving everyone else stronger and wealthier in the long run."

Raki had never bought in to this theory, and he let Ruud know it, "That's a nice theory, but you're not going to last in power if you don't agree to my condition, and you know it."

Ruud swallowed his pride, "Let's say I agree to this condition, what's the other one?"

Raki "We need to pay our parliamentarians better."

Ruud hissed back to avoid people overhearing them, "You want me to raise tariffs on merchants who support me and then turn around and tell them it's so you can increase politicians' salaries at their expense?

Raki was steadfast, ""Have you ever tried living solely on the salary we pay our members of Parlement, Ruud? I can't even afford a nanny for my kids."

The Premier was unsympathetic, "How do you think that will play with the voting public? They already love to complain about politicians being money-grubbers enough as it is. Neither of us would be re-elected if we voted ourselves a pay raise with the country's mood like it is. I can promise you the tariff, Raki, but if you don't drop the demand, Raki, then I promise you I'll tell everyone in Parlement who your wife has been spending her time with lately."

"What?"

Ruud pointed to the upper gallery opposite them, and as Raki's eyes followed Ruud's pointing finger, he came across a familiar figure seated alongside Ambassador Andrei Tuluzy and his wife in the Romanow Empire's exclusive box.

Raki cursed aloud in shock, "Merde, what the hell are you thinking, Claire?"

* * *

Helen was getting rather bored with the coronation ceremony from where she was standing when finally the organist and the trumpeters changed keys.

The gaudily dressed Royal Herald sprang forth before the throne yet again from his seat and proclaimed, "Seigneurs et Dames, Mesdames et Messieurs, place à Sa Majesté Royale!"

"Finally," Helen muttered.

"What do you mean, finally? We've only been waiting for a quarter hour," a female voice reproached her.

Helen did not have to look far to find Princesse Natalie a few paces ahead looking back from a Parlement seat. Natalie was wearing an elegant pink gown, the color of which was in sharp contrast to the attire of almost every other claymore in the chamber. The Diamond Throne stood upon a raised platform nearby, overlooking row upon row of MPs, dignitaries and the cream of society in the Parlement chamber to either side in front of the throne. Natalie's seat was behind the throne by about five paces and on a lower level, a level upon which Helen was standing as well. Only she was standing even further back in a recess in the wall, out of sight of most people. It was just as well, because Helen knew she was terrible at moving around in her red and gold gown. It felt ridiculous to wear such a thing. If it had been up to her, she would have worn ceremonial armor, which at least would have been easier to handle. Naturally Miria just about tore her hair out at hearing that proposal, so it was a gown or nothing at all.

Helen quietly hissed back, "I'm not suited to standing around for a ceremony. I'm supposed to be out there kicking someone's ass with a big sword."

Natalie shot back a witty retort, "Someone who can take on enemies with a big sword can afford to stand a quarter hour for my mother's only coronation, Helen. Or are you going to claim you can't handle even that?"

Natalie glanced up and over at the Roi's chair, where Cid was watching over the ceremony and the crowds like a hawk. His head shifted when a beautiful figure entered the chamber opposite them; it was Miria.

The garrulous Royal Herald dramatically proclaimed, "Nous demandons que tout le monde se lève en l'honneur de Sa Majesté."

At once every man, woman and child in the chamber got up and stood, many of them politely clapping and cheering Miria's appearance. The warrior Helen had once known by first name looked like a much changed woman. Miria's hair was ornately styled, the only thing familiar being it was parted in front into two long bangs that draped down to her lovely neck. Behind this Miria had her finely shampooed, brown-blond hair pulled into an elaborate bun atop her head, giving her an air of wealth and authority. This was a sharp contrast to the old navy blue leather and frazzled hair Helen remembered Miria sporting not five years prior.

Helen walked up behind the left side of Natalie's chair and commented, "Miria always did like dressing up."

Natalie scornfully whispered back, "Yeah, and you had to be dragged kicking and screaming just to come in something other than old leather."

Helen sarcastically commented, "Sometimes, I swear you want to make me try to strangle you, Natalie."

Miria stepped into the light cascading down from the chamber's stained glass windows on either side. The sight was jaw amazing the two of them into silence, for Miria was resplendent in her royal garb. Her dress featured a very high collar frill topped with five large, oval, red rubies atop its spines. It was an ornate mix of royal blue, golden yellow and regal green that caught the eye, especially as the golden yellow served as the border between green and blue. This made the dress full of eye-catching contrasting colors, which was in turn accentuated by the countless jewels. Rubies, diamonds, sapphires, emeralds and fine amethysts were everywhere, from the incredible necklace gracing the Reine's neck, to her earrings, the ornate wedding ring topped with a huge blue sapphire, and everywhere throughout the dress.

Helen quietly blurted, "How much did she spend on that?"

Natalie wise-cracked, "More than you ever will."

Helen gave the girl a quick jab in the shoulders, leading Natalie to let out a "ouch!"

Cid must have heard them, for the Roi turned his head and reproachful gaze towards them and muttered, "The two of you, knock it off, NOW."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Helen apologized, regretting her overly respectful tone almost instantly.

Cid, after all, had hardly been worthy of such respect only five years ago. Was his becoming royalty alongside Miria really making everything that different? The thought was disturbing, especially when Helen remembered that she couldn't place the last time she'd dared ever call Miria by her first name only.

"God that dress is amazing," Natalie whispered.

Helen had to agree with that sentiment. It was made in the Rabonese style, only everything was exaggerated. The cleavage was extra-ample, no doubt thanks to an underlying corset and a deeper v-cut than normal. The shoulders were extra puffy and colored golden yellow, which was in sharp contrast to the form-fitting sleeves. The bodice of the dress was gorgeously ornamented in color and jewels and fit tight against Miria's physique. The only other difference was some parts of the flowing gown in front were also ornamented, which was not typical. In short, it made Miria look every inch a royal, and people, especially the women, were taking note of every little detail.

'_As if the fools could afford to buy one of their own_,' Helen thought. '_Miria's got more money than God_.'

Helen regretted that blasphemous thought almost instantly, but it was not one she'd uttered aloud. This was good, because the last thing she needed was another lesson on being a proper Orthodox from Archbishop Galatea, or for that matter, loud lecturing about how she should give all her money away to the poor.

As Miria began her solemn walk forward, her eyes barely blinking, Helen noticed a few other changes in her old friend.

Helen whispered in Natalie's left ear, "Has she been gaining weight?"

Natalie cringed, "Maybe a little."

Apparently a 'little' meant Miria's waist was now several inches wider, her hips and posterior more pronounced, but the difference was most noticeable in Miria's bust, which was easily half again larger than it had been. Miria had never exactly been lacking for size in that area, and while she didn't look fat, it was concerning that she'd put on pounds there especially. Claymores with big bosoms had usually not been long for the world in the days of the Organization. It slowed them down, distracted them, and made them worse at jumping around, and even on someone as good a fighter as Miria all that extra weight would hardly make her a better fighter.

'I can't let her go on like this,' Helen resolved.

It was, again, another thought she almost instantly regretted. Helen had no idea how she was going to broach the subject of extra weight to a woman who no one dared speak an ill-word these days. Especially when the female in question was a pride-filled Reine who'd struggled her way to the top and didn't like taking criticism from anyone.

Miria kept walking down the center of the Parlement chamber, which was shaped a bit like a valley. In its center was a low, open area cloaked in fine carpet upon which Miria was now walking. To either side was a crush of onlookers, many of them MPs or their wives, seated in the inclined lower gallery stand of seats. Above them were members of the public, all dressed to the nines, in the upper gallery seats, all of which were on an incline to afford everyone a good view. It was then that Helen finally noticed Archbishop Galatea seated nearby, to the right hand side of the throne, holding a crown and scepter.

Miria, upon reaching the stairs to the throne, ascended them with ease, but instead of seating herself upon the throne she turned before it and stood. It was at this moment that Renée came forward with Miria's sword. Helen however was distracted by something in Natalie's dress. Or rather down it.

Helen hissed in disbelief, "Is that a note down your cleavage?"

Natalie, obviously desperate to avoid attracting attention, quietly hissed back, "So what if it is? It's none of your business."

Helen tried her best to look away and pretend she was enjoying the ceremony all the while snipping back, "I cannot believe this. You slipped some boy's note down your cleavage at your mother's coronation?"

"As if you're the innocent one here, Aunt Helen," Natalie retorted as quietly and with as little lip movement as possible. "Exactly how many marriages have you been involved the wrong way in?"

Natalie was speaking, rather bluntly, of her affair with Ruud van Willems, who had been married at the time. It took all of Helen's self-control not to snap and yell at the girl.

The ceremony, meanwhile, was moving apace, with Miria clutching her sword of state in both hands, its hilt to the ceiling and blade tip resting on the floor. Archbishop Galatea, who was wearing flowing red, white and gold robes and an elegant red-white cap over her flowing locks, took out a large religious book, flicked through a few pages, and settled in to read.

"Miria Victoire de Beauharnais Malaga, you have fought hard to hard on behalf of the people, and throughout that time—"

Natalie couldn't resist the moment to quietly comment, "I like how Galatea fails to mention she was one of those people mother had to struggle against."

Helen ignored this and instead prodded as quietly as she could, "Hand me that note before your mother notices it."

Natalie gave her an annoying smirk, "Or what, you're going to put a hand down my cleavage during the ceremony to get it?"

If there was annoying thing about silver-eyed girls getting older to Helen, it was them getting smarter faster than they matured. Natalie was right about putting a hand down her cleavage at least; Helen was not about to dare pull anything as crass as that at her friend's only coronation. In private circumstances however…

Galatea meanwhile was continuing her pronouncement, "So at last you have reached this moment, where you shall pledge your life, your faith and your service to the people of the Kingdom of Toulouse. Votre Majesté, are you ready to take your pledge?"

Miria answered in an almost dreamy voice, "I am."

Galatea upped the volume of her voice, evidently determined that all would hear, "Then repeat after me."

Natalie at this moment however interrupted Helen's enjoyment of the ceremony to remark, "Um, Aunt Helen, do you see those two men staring really intensely at mother?"

"This is no time for jokes, Natalie," Helen whispered back.

Galatea began, "I, Miria Victoire de Beauharnais Malaga, do solemnly swear… "

Miria repeated the words, "I, Miria Victoire de Beauharnais Malaga do—"

Natalie shockingly grabbed Helen's chin by one arm and pointed her gaze towards the crowd to the right. Seated a few seats away from the broad-shouldered Gaspar Galacon, Helen noticed a man dressed in a fine red outfit that looked a little travel-worn. His long face was staring straight at the Reine as if he were a man possessed, not by lust, but by anger. There was no mistaking his stare for anything but a glare.

'_Great, the one moment when I wished I had a weapon on me to be safe, and I'm in a dress with no weapon at all_,' Helen grumbled inwardly.

"I see him," Helen acknowledged.

Miria's vow, meanwhile, was continuing, with Miria now stating, "to protect the realm, uphold its laws, respect the rights of its citizens, consult and govern with the people's consent, and protect the true faith."

Natalie tugged on the cape of a nearby member of the Garde Royale to her right and whispered something when he leaned in to hear her. The man did not move immediately, but did make a motion to another guard nearer the seated Roi.

"He says they'll take mother out the back way to be safe," Natalie confided to Helen.

Galatea interrupted their conversation by proclaiming loudly, "Then by the power invested in me by God and the Rabona Orthodox Church, I do crown you."

Galatea grabbed the crown, which was beautifully made and shaped much like a crest, and placed it atop Miria's head to a thunderous applause.

"I declare you Miria the first, Reine Régnante du Royaume de Toulouse, duchesse de Rabona, commandante suprême des Forces Armées Royales et Protectrice de la Foi. Vive la Reine!"

The onlookers took up the line on cue as the Archbishop stood back and Helen thought she could see a faint smile on Miria's face, even from several yards behind and to Miria's right.

The crowd shouted with glee, "Vive la Reine! Vive la Reine!"

The glaring man in the crowd instead shouted, "Vive Lautrec libre!"

A moment later, he pulled something he out, and there was a scream, "He's got a gun!"

He tried to aim it at Miria, but at the last moment, Gaspar Galacon lunged down the row and knocked his aim skyward. The shot flew skyward in a cacophony of screams, smoke and the gun's booming echo in the chamber. Miria was still standing in the open, almost transfixed, seemingly too in shock to move when a second man knocked down several onlookers.

He shouted, "Rappelez-vous Frontenac!"

The Garde Royale belatedly sprang into action, two of them hustling the princesses out of the room but ignoring Helen. Another pair were rushing towards the second man, but there were too many people between them to stop him leveling his pistol and taking aim straight at the Reine. Cid jumped to his feet and had pulled his own gun out when the man opened fire upon the Reine from not more than twenty paces away.


	3. Chapter 3: The Decay of Order

**Chapter 3: The Decay of Order**

* * *

"There are roads that are not followed. There are armies that are not attacked. There are fortified cities that are not assaulted. There is terrain for which one does not contend. There are commands from the ruler that are not accepted."-Sun Tzu, the Art of War

* * *

**The New Monarchy**

By Dr. S. Belyaev

When Comtesse "Phantom" Miria Victoire Beauharnais Malaga saved Rabona's Parlement from a coup attempt, she was quite suddenly elevated to the position of Reine de Toulouse (Reine of Toulouse) in gratitude. At the time it seemed an extraordinarily hasty decision by Parlement taken in the heat of the moment. However its members had many understandable reasons to elevate Miria to the vacant throne. The first reason was that elevating the enormously popular Miria would simultaneously delegitimize the prior royal family's claim to the throne while also giving the nation a popular unifying figurehead. Another reason was that of self-preservation. Parlement could not afford to continually live in fear of soldiers supposedly under its control. By making Miria a monarch, they could protect themselves from the army and concentrate on making the country stronger and more prosperous. Perhaps the only damning reason for this decision was the Malaga family's unrivalled wealth. This would allow the politicians in Parlement to avoid raising as many taxes to support the state, as the Malagas' great wealth would allow them to self-fund much of the government. This selfishness would soon give rise to what historians have now called "the new monarchy".

Its rise started with a demand from Parlement for the royal family to fund a quarter of the government's spending. Miria's husband, Cid, was furious, as he quite rightly saw it as an attempt by politicians to use the royal family's wealth to allow them to cut taxes for their constituents. After much negotiating, Miria agreed to provide the funds in exchange for becoming something more than a figurehead constitutional monarch. She was immediately declared the Supreme Commander of the Royal Armed Forces, and soon thereafter all of its men were swearing an oath of allegiance to Miria as well as her heirs and successors. In their quest for political popularity, members of Parlement had transformed the monarchy into something far more than just a figurehead position.

By the time she was crowned, Miria's backers were urging her to go even further and…

* * *

The screams and chaos threatened to overwhelm her senses as Helen rushed towards the enormous Diamond throne. Of the two assassins, one had dropped out of her sight, and the other was attempting to get away as the crowd parted around him and ran for their lives. Helen could scarcely believe how slowly the guards were wading through the crowd rushing past to get at the other assassin. The crowd's panic was preventing the guards arresting the man as they clogged the avenues to him even as he turned to flee.

"Everyone get out of my way," Helen bellowed, her fury getting the better of her.

Helen spotted Miria's massive claymore sword feet behind the throne. It was sheathed in a fine leather scabbard. The Garde Royale rushed past escorting Cid, as they'd already rushed their Reine back into the back room behind the room. Helen weaved through them and seized Miria's enormous blade. She unsheathed the sword in a split second, which caused everyone around her, both Garde Royale and civilian alike, to stampede to either side. Within moments the way was clearing to get at the would-be assassin, and he knew it. He turned to flee, leaping over seats and onlookers, rushing towards the Parlement chamber's member's entryway. She was about to leap after him when he flung something back at her.

A Garde Royale marked it out instantly, "It's a grenade!"

Helen, instead of halting her run forward, recognized this would likely kill her, and instead made a flying leap to avoid the weapon. She heard it strike the floor nearby, its fuse sizzling, when she landed and clutched her head. A tremendous bang followed, causing her ears to ring. By the time she clambered to her feet, the scene around her had changed.

Gone were most of the onlookers, seemingly all of them having left the chamber. There was smoke hazing up the room, with many of the nearby wooden splintered or blasted apart. A few destroyed remnants of seats were lightly aflame, while others were only smoking. Helen grabbed her sword and whipped around to face the assassin. Instead, she found Miata putting her knee into the man's back, having pinned him to the floor.

Within moments she was joined by a small horde of Garde Royale, many of whom were viciously kicking the assassin in righteous anger.

Miata put a stop to that, "You're going to get us all killed if you kick a grenade, you idiots! Search him for weapons and then take him into custody."

The would-be assassin shouted as he was searched, "Rappelez-vous Frontenac!"

"A couple of the Garde Royale carefully set down unused grenades the man had been carrying, leaving Helen to wonder why in the world the assassin hadn't used them from the start. A gunshot was rarely deadly for a silver-eyed warrior except when it struck them in the head. Only a direct shot to the heart would stand a chance of seriously wounding a warrior like the Reine, and even then, it would take multiple shots to kill her.

A quartet of Garde Royale roughly hauled the young man to his feet, one of his eyes already turning purple from the blows that had rained down on him earlier. Helen decided to ask him one question that was nagging her.

She turned to the man and looked him in the eye, "Why? Why did you try to kill the Reine?"

His contempt was clear when he snarled, "The people of Frontenac must and will be avenged! We will never agree to live under a tyrant whose servants butcher her people in the name of the Great Father above."

Helen, confused, snapped back, "What in the world are you talking about?"

The man ranted, "You seek to deny it, but our cause will not be denied. We will drown all of you deniers of justice in a sea of blood and—"

Helen cut him off with a right uppercut that knocked him out instantly.

"Nicely done," Miata complimented as she walked up besides Helen.

"I got tired of hearing the damn fool talk," Helen growled.

The Garde Royale nearby began taking the slumped man away.

Helen snapped, "I want him locked away with the other assassin in our most secure prison. I don't know what happened in Frontenanc, but I want every man from there or within the neighboring villages pulled off guard duty. And another thing, I want someone to tell me what the hell happened in Frontenac. Maybe the man was completely delusional, but if not, I want to know about it."

The sole officer amongst the royal guards acknowledged her authority, "Of course, General. We'll keep you posted on the prisoner and any news from Frontenac. Where shall we expect to find you?"

"I'll be at the royal palace attending to Her Royal Majesty," Helen informed him. "Where's that other assassin I said to imprison?"

"He's dead," a female voice interjected.

Helen turned along with Miata to find Claire, Valencia, Audrey, and both the Romanow Empire's Ambassador and Vice Ambassador to Toulouse standing over a bloodied corpse.

Audrey nudged the man's leg with her feet, and there was no reaction. Helen walked over the debris of several smoldering Parlement seats to find Audrey's pronouncement was entirely correct. The man could not have been older than twenty, and his eyes were already closed shut. He almost looked asleep but for the neat bullet hole in his forehead and the pool of blood underneath his black-haired head.

"Take the body away and search it to see if you find anything," Helen instructed the nearby guardsmen.

Helen glanced over at the Diamond Throne and saw no sign of blood or a bullet wedged into the back of it. A moment later a royal guardsman rushed up to her. He gave her a prompt salute, which was strange, because the Garde Royale was not technically under her command.

"Her Royal Majesty requests your presence, General," the guardsman stated, his body and voice tense.

"I'll be with Her Majesty in a moment," Helen replied

Helen turned to Claire and the Romanowan officials, "Claire, Your Excellency," Helen added to address Andrei, "I"ll take care of matters here. It's best if you see to your children. I don't know who we're dealing with yet, but they may yet try blackmail after their efforts here failed."

The Romanowans turned to leave, but Claire hesitated.

"If the Reine needed you, Claire, she would have said so," Helen reminded.

The guardsman reminded, "General, Her Majesty insisted—"

"I heard you the first time," Helen snapped, losing her patience.

Helen gave a nod to Claire, turned, followed a pair of Garde Royale, turned the corner, and passed through the Parlement chamber's hidden rear entranceway. There she found a swarm of royal guardsmen trying to put on a show of activity and zeal.

"This way, General," her guide pointed.

They walked down a flight of brick stairs to the covered stone entranceway for carriages. It was literally choked with Garde Royale and the royal carriage procession. Centermost of the carriages was the Reine's carriage, which was a beautiful mix of black paint and gold leaf ornamentation. At each of its four corners was mounted an ornamental lantern, and it was pulled by a sextet of well-bred, pure white horses. Standing in front of it, waving his arms around and looking very angry was Cid. Or rather the king, as Helen had to remind herself. The royal carriage itself had the curtains drawn back, keeping Helen from seeing Miria within it, though it was quite easy to sense Miria's yoki inside. Even as she watched, a lady-in-waiting wearing a green and gold dress came out of the carriage, clutching a stack of bloodied bandages. The young woman closed the royal carriage's door and rushed past Helen without a word.

Cid meanwhile was chewing out one of the Garde Royale officers, "You tell me, how in the hell did those fucking bastards sneak two pistols and grenades past your men?"

"Your Majesty," the mid-aged, armored officer replied, "We simply don't know yet. I assure you we took every precaution we could think of and—"

Cid cut him off, "Every precaution? Your Reine has a bullet lodged in her chest that nearly hit her in the heart. You call that every precaution?" He then gestured towards her as she approached, "General Habsburg responded more ably to the attempt on my wife's life than the whole lot of you, and she's been wearing a dress the whole damn time!"

For the first time since the crisis had started realized Helen remembered she'd been running around ordering soldiers and going after assassins in a dress. It began to nag at her immediately, because she'd never truly felt comfortable walking around in a dress, much less ordering people around in one. The Roi however didn't seem concerned with such things.

Cid dismissed the man, "I've heard enough. I want the resignation letter of the commander of the Garde Royale on my wife's desk within the hour. See to your duties, Colonel."

The Colonel walked off, leaving her alone with the king. Helen was uncertain whether to curtsy or salute her king, but Cid appeared not to be in the mood to care for such formalities. He was wearing only a portion of his magnificent coronation robes, and looked almost absurdly over-dressed compared to even the royal coachmen lingering nearby. He was not a large man, but then again, Cid had never needed great size to command attention even before he married Miria and became her Roi Consort, or King Consort. He had a loud voice and a boldness few could match. Helen had always wondered to herself whether that was what had attracted Miria to him in the first place.

Cid kept pacing, switching between glancing at her and looking around, before finally coming to the point, "Helen, I'm giving you formal command of all army units in the capital on behalf of your Reine. You're the only officer who had any sense in responding to what happened today, and you're the only one Her Royal Majesty trusts completely with lives of her family. Until there's a new commander of the Garde Royale, you'll also be their interim commander."

Helen had to fight back tears of gratitude before noting, "I would gladly, but surely there is a more senior officer available for such a task. I've only just taken on the responsibilities of a Brigadier General."

"There won't be a Major General here in the capital for another week," Cid informed her. "Until then, Helen, Rabona is yours to protect."

It didn't feel right for anyone to trust her so. After all, a few years prior, she'd been acting as irresponsibly as she'd wanted, boozing it up as she bedded married men. She hadn't even had a command of anyone back then. It felt as though it was a completely different universe from the one she was presently in. If ever there was a moment when it the weight of the world felt like it was upon her shoulders, it was now.

'If only Deneve could see me now,' Helen thought regretfully.

* * *

"He's dead," Audrey stated loudly.

Claire thought that a ridiculously obvious statement for her friend to make.

Claire, Audrey, Audrey's husband Andrei, his deputy, Josef Lazarov, along with several aides and Valencia had rushed down to the Parlement chamber floor upon the attempt on Reine Miria's life. It had all been too late to change anything, and in any case, the king had shot one assassin whilst the other was brought down by Helen, Miata and the Garde Royale. It was only when Helen had looked up towards Audrey that Claire realized her friend had meant it for Helen's ears.

Audrey was nudging the dead man's right leg with her left shoe when Helen strode over, her once-faultless dress scratched up and ripped in several places. Helen looked almost absurd, having sheathed her enormous claymore into a swordholder tied tight against her shoulders and back. Still, given Helen was readier for what happened, Claire couldn't fault her old friend's fashion sense. Silver-eyed warriors in her opinion should always prefer function over form.

Helen looked in distaste at the grisly results of Cid's marksmanship and snapped at two loitering royal guardsmen, "Take the body away and search it to see if you find anything."

Helen seemed to be lost in thought when another royal guardsman came up and saluted, stating bluntly, "Her Royal Majesty requests your presence, General."

Claire thought she heard a hint of exasperation as Helen curtly replied, "I"ll be with Her Majesty in a moment."

Helen watched the man walk off for a moment then turned and made clear, "Claire, Your Excellency," she stated, addressing Andrei Tuluzy, "I'll take care of matters here. It's best if you see to your children. I don't know who we're dealing with yet, but they may yet try blackmail after their efforts here failed."

Claire immediately had a sinking feeling in her stomach; there was nothing quite as alarming as one's children being used as hostages. There had already been one attempt to take her children hostage, and she had vowed it would be the last successful time. A part of her wanted to rush home, but Claire hesitated. Alexandra was more than a match for any human assailants, and rushing home breathless might alarm the twins.

_Miria's going to need me_, Claire thought. _She knows I'm the best warrior._

Her pride getting the better of her, Claire decided to stay as the Romanowan party turned to leave, leading Helen to snap, "If the Reine needed you, Claire, she would have said so."

Chagrined, Claire turned to leave and noticed Miata had been standing at attention the whole time, her showy outfit however didn't appear to be distracting any of the guards. The situation was much too serious for them to care about such matters.

The guardsman waiting on Helen reminded her, "General, Her Majesty insisted—"

"I heard you the first time," Helen snapped, clearly losing her patience with the man.

Claire walked off with the Romanowan party and together they walked out of the Parlement chamber's member's entranceway to find a literal crowd of people pressing against a line of guards. There was a lot of loud shouting, much of it indiscernible in the din, as Claire followed Audrey and her husband's group awkwardly through the line of soldiers.

It took minutes before they were outside and could hear one another. They emerged in the immense new central square of Rabona. The Gothic-style Parlement building was behind them, to the north. Directly to the west was the budding construction site of the Rabona Orthodox Church's new cathedral, which was promised to be the grandest one built yet. To the east was the flowery, Renaissance-style Premier's Palace, which had originally been built for Lord Mayor Zaehringen. With that office now empty, it had been taken over by the new Premier, Ruud van Willems. To the east were the new manors of the Rabonese elite, and around all of them were the five-story high fortified stone walls guarding the central square.

Claire strongly suspected that the old Lord Mayor Zaehringen hadn't entirely trusted the masses, leading him to create a large line of fortifications around Rabona's new central city square. Yet despite his efforts, and those of the soldiers running around and the fact that there were only four city gates into the square, the security had failed the Reine. At the very least Miria's yoki signature seemed healthy enough, though it was not hard to read both fear and aggravation in it.

Andrei gestured to a young male aide and muttered something in Comnenian.

Their quick exchange of words in the foreign Comnenian tongue piqued Claire's curiosity as to what was said. It may have reminded most in Rabona that the Romanowans were foreigners, and thus not to be trusted, but to Claire it instead brought home her embarrassing knowledge of only one tongue. She kept promising herself she would learn Comnenian someday, and yet she'd never carried through on that promise.

Audrey put a hand on Claire's shoulder, "You'd best come with us back to the embassy. We can get you an escort to go back home to your children then."

Nothing could have made Claire feel more awkward than having a quartet of foreign soldiers guarding her. Audrey was clearly meant well, but it almost felt insulting to hear her friend offer bodyguard protection. Claire however had the good sense not to say this to Audrey.

"That's very kind of you, but I…"

Claire trailed off after seeing an older man in the crowd walk away from them. Something about his gait and his dark clothing seemed eerily familiar. He slipped past a pair of elderly women near the southeastern gate. The guards near the gate, who seemed disorganized at best, were so distracted they missed the man slip past them.

Claire turned to follow when a hand grabbed her by the arm.

Claire turned to find Audrey holding her back, objecting, "Where are you going?"

Claire shook off Audrey's restraining hand, "I have something I need to do."

As Claire rushed off, Audrey screamed out behind her, "Claire, for God's sake, you can't just go running after someone, you've got three children to worry about!"

* * *

The grand doors to the Premier's office creaked open, the guards opening the 2-story tall oaken frames struggling against their weight. The moment a man the doors had parted enough to walk between, Ruud van Willems hurried into the room beyond. Ruud was not a slight man, and topped both of the guards in height. Raki had always wondered if Ruud's height was not half the reason why he'd been chosen as the Premier of the kingdom's government in Parlement. As for the other half, Raki was pretty sure it was a mix of Ruud's political skills and money. Ruud van Willems was, until Miria's hobby miners had struck a motherlode of diamonds, the 2nd richest man in Rabona behind Lord Mayor Zaehringen. With Zaehringen dead, Ruud was probably still the wealthiest man around whose wealth wasn't tied to diamonds.

Ruud held out his arms as Raki followed inside the grand room, declaring, "Welcome to my humble abode."

Raki was pretty sure Ruud was being sarcastic, for there was nothing humble about the room whatsoever. It was 30 feet to the top of the arched ceiling by his estimation. Rimming the room at regular intervals were massive arched, twin-pane windows that looked out on Rabona in all four directions. The room's floor was finely varnished and made of walnut, while the wood paneling decorating the lower few feet of the thick walls was made of a darker maple. An elegant green and yellow flower pattern was used in the wallpaper up till the ceiling. The ceiling in contrast showed scenes of judgment by the Great Father, and rather pointlessly, in Raki's opinion, showed Teresa and Claire as angels rather than Goddesses. That was the thing about the Orthodox faithful that could really grate on him; they were absolutely convinced their faith was true and nothing he could say would make him any less of a heathen on "their island".

"It's very nice," was all Raki offered in compliment to the Premier.

Ruud walked around a massive desk at the room's far end and sat down.

They were across the square from the Parlement, having rushed to the Premier's Palace to take charge of the situation. It was a far larger building than the old Lord Mayor's manor, and had been begun under Willems' corrupt predecessor, Lord Mayor Zaehringen. It was meant for the highest-ranking politician in Rabona, which until the creation of the Kingdom of Toulouse had been the Lord Mayor. Now, with that office vacant, it had been taken over by Ruud van Willems, as he was the Premier of the royal government owing to the fact that his backers were the largest faction in Parlement.

Raki offered a suggestion, "Monsieur Premier, should we not alert the army to what has happened immediately?"

Ruud shocked him by laughing, "Alert the army?! The last time I even tried to give them orders, they sent me back a letter saying they only took orders from the Reine. The only armed men who answer to me are the incompetent guards who nearly let our Reine be assassinated right in front of us."

The bitterness in the Premier's voice was clear as day.

Raki snipped, "Then send it out in the name of the Reine. You're not issuing them an order; you're just alerting them to what happened. They can't object to that, and you can't count on someone else doing it in this chaos. If you don't act, I guarantee Gaspar Galacon will bring up your inaction as yet one more example of your supposed incompetence."

Ruud van Willems turned bright red, "You just had to bring up that bastard. Fine, we'll send out the damn alert, and mark my words, he'll bring up the assassination attempt as proof of my incompetence anyways. That bastard would criticize me no matter what, because he doesn't care if it's true or not so long as it gets him into power. If I walked on water, he would say it was because I couldn't swim."

"Father," a male voice interrupted.

Raki glanced over his shoulder to find a young, well-dressed man who strongly resembled Ruud approach. He was clean-shaven, handsome enough, looked to be no older than twenty, was only modest in stature, and had his shoulder-length black hair parted to either side.

Ruud gestured with a hand to the newcomer, "Raki, I believe you've met my youngest son before."

Raki shook the young man's hand, which his dwarfed, asking, "Your name was Hans, wasn't it?"

The young man answered affirmatively, "Yes. I was recently elected to the Parlement for the southwestern prefecture of Rabona."

Hans van Willems had an earnestness to him that marked him apart from his father. Raki had once been neighbors of Hans, shortly after the boy had moved out of his father's house. The town gossips had been saying Hans had objected to his father's affair with the former claymore, Helen Habsburg. In a bitter year for Ruud, he'd first lost his wife in an attempt on Helen's life and shortly afterwards Helen had left him as well. Whatever else the young man had, he had ambition. Raki had never heard of anyone twenty years old being elected to Parlement before.

Ruud, his aggravation forgotten, proudly clucked, "Just this past month my boy founded the very first newspaper here in Rabona."

Raki wasn't sure what that was, so he merely complimented, "Very impressive. Monsieur Premier, forgive me, but hadn't we—"

The loud shifting of armor interrupted them, as a young army soldier came forward and, surprisingly, saluted the Premier seated before him.

Ruud scratched his hawkish nose, waved his left hand and rather assumingly asked, "You have news from the western lands?"

"I do, Monsieur Premier," the young man replied, appearing modestly surprised.

He was armored only in chainmail and armed with a sword, his brown-haired head bereft of a helmet and his face deadly serious.

The soldier, whom Raki belatedly realized was an officer, reported, "Colonel Champlain wishes to report he has engaged a group of Triarchiste rebels in the eastern half of the province of Lautrec. He is happy to report that they have been pursued and dealt a devastating blow."

Ruud asked quietly, "He wouldn't have happened to have done this in the town of Frontenac, would he?"

The young officer, surprised, glanced between the three of them, then answered, "Well yes, Your Excellency. Our forces were alerted to a raid by a band of Triarchiste traitors near the Gorge de Kerouac. Colonel Champlain heard the news and pursued them. We hit them as they tried to carry away their looted treasure and won a decisive victory."

Ruud clarified, "Who is we?"

The young, goateed officer answered in a voice that almost sounded contemptuous, "Colonel Champlain's brigade of course."

Raki interjected, "So what happened after your victory?"

"Colonel Champlain sent me to tell you the news as a common courtesy. We are under no obligation to tell you anything," the officer reminded van Willems. "We answer solely to the Reine, as the command of the armed forces only properly belongs to the monarch."

If Ruud van Willems was not aware of level of contempt the army had for the elected members of Parlement, he certainly would be now.

The young man continued in a proud tone as the city of Rabona buzzed with people outside the room's grand arched windows, "Our brigade then tried to capture those that fled, and those we did not capture fled to a nearby town."

Ruud immediately asked, "That wouldn't happen to be the town of Frontenac, would it?"

The officer was taken aback, clearly surprised, "Why yes, but…"

Ruud leaned back in his chair, studying the young man as he looked up at him before Hans broke the news, "At noon today, two men, who claimed to be from the town of Frontenac, infiltrated the coronation of our Reine and attempted to assassinate her. One of them died by the king's hand, and the other is in prison. They claimed they were avenging something that happened in Frontenac."

"God have mercy," the officer gasped. "The Reine, will she—"

Raki interrupted, "She will survive, thank the Heavens. So what happened in Frontenac? We need an answer, soldier."

"I don't answer to Triarchiste filth," the man sneered. "I'm only hear to report the news to the Premier. Colonel's orders."

Ruud stood up and bellowed, "Then get on with it!"

Ruud van Willems was not a short man, so he made an intimidating sight when angered.

The soldier for once dropped his disrespectful tone, "Your Excellency, Colonel Champlain is happy to report that the rebel threat in eastern Lautrec has been utterly extinguished. Our forces cornered them in the town of Frontenac and wiped them out."

Ruud van Willems' eyes narrowed, "The rebels or the town?"

Raki was pretty sure from the way the officer hesitated that the answer might be both.

* * *

"General, we've brought your fighting tunic and armor, as requested."

Helen turned to find a soldier present her with a dark blue tunic and pants, while another held out a helmet, breastplate and pauldrons. Helen grabbed them both and thanked them, grateful that finally she could stop issuing orders while wearing a gown. There were soldiers and Garde Royale moving around less aimlessly now, though everyone still seemed to be in shock. Even she felt some of it. It was not as if Miria was a monstrous tyrant who had deserved what had just happened.

Helen was still managing to make order out of chaos, unable to move from the rear entrance of the Parlement building until Mira was moved back to the safety of the Palais Malaga.

"Majesty, please hold still for just a few seconds," a male voice calmly instructed.

A muffled yelp later, a man emerged from the the royal carriage holding a pair of surgical pliers, and at its tip, held between each segment, was a large, bloodied, metallic ball.

The gray-haired man came towards her, shouting imperiously, "Make way!"

Helen dodged to the left and watched the man bully his way through the crowd of soldiers and guards before disappearing through a basement door to Parlement. She noticed there was a small blood trail on the stones along the path the man had taken. Her heart sank at the sight of the blood.

Helen approached the royal coach, but a pair of guardsmen blocked her way, snapping, "Her Royal Majesty recovery is not to be disturbed. Doctor's orders."

"Fine," Helen fumed, walking off.

Frustrated, she turned instead to one of the coaches behind the royal coach, which was less grand and had black blinds drawn up across its windows. Helen opened the door knowing there were people inside, though at least she knew both of them from their Yoki signatures. She clambered up, awkwardly, before entering the carriage only to nearly step on black tabbycat who had irritatingly been sleeping on the floor.

Helen dropped the pauldrons rather noisily onto the coach's floor by accident.

The young Princesse Natalie belatedly shouted, "You nearly stepped on Cid Junior!"

Princesse Natalie was a rather petite girl by claymore standards, and still was dressed in her coronation day pink gown. Only now her massive claymore sword lay nearby, which was the same sword the girl had used to kill the would-be conqueror of Rabona, King Charles. Natalie had a confusing character, in Helen's opinion. It was sometimes hard to believe the same girl who could spend hours pampering her cat could, in moments, pick up her sword and kill someone. Yet Natalie was far from being alone in this strange dichotomy of character.

"Godammit, Natalie, would it kill you to move your fucking cat when I'm walking into your carriage carrying armor and a combat tunic?!"

Renée, true to her undiplomatic nature, opined, "Helen would have done us all a service if she had stepped on your damn cat. Why exactly are you bringing your armor in here?"

"Nowhere else to put it," Helen replied with a white lie.

The cat, for his part, had scrambled up to the coach's window ledge, perched high atop the plush red back of the rear bench. There he took refuge behind the Princesse's hairdo and hissed at Helen. There was another person in the carriage who was also similarly unamused, and that was Princesse Renée, the heir to the throne. A tiara made of gold and fine gems of many colors adorned her head, along with a hairbun and elaborate braid dropping from it that must have taken hours to create. Renée was similarly dressed in her coronation-day best dress, and wore large diamond earrings and a huge yellow sapphire dangling on a chain. This just so happened to be long enough to drop enticingly right in front of Renée's considerable cleavage.

'And Renée calls herself a prude,' Helen wryly thought to herself.

Natalie, with a note of worry in her voice, asked, "How is mother?"

Helen sighed, "The bastard shot her, but they've got the ball out and she's going to be fine."

"She'll be fine," Helen repeated herself at the raising of both girls' eyebrows.

It was a reassurance Helen was making as much to herself as to the two princesses. It was one thing to see someone attempt to kill Miria on the battlefield; it was quite another to see it attempted during peacetime out of the blue. Miria was lucky; had the ball hit her in the forehead, all of them might now be making plans for the Reine's funeral.

"Now, if you don't mind, I've got to get changed into my combat gear."

Renée, predictably, immediately objected, "Oh no, no, no, you are not going to get changed in our carriage!"

Helen didn't much care what Renée thought and retorted, "Do you see any other carriages around not filled with men?"

Renée didn't have a comeback to this, but instead just gave Helen an annoyed glare and sat back down. That was fine with Helen, as she didn't have time for yet another argument with her old comrade. Instead, she turned her back on both of her comrades, kicked off her shoes, and slipped the annoying dress off. Helen was in the act of putting on the pants of her combat tunic when she glanced back to see Natalie covering the eyes of her cat with a hand.  
"Natalie, what in the hell are you doing?"

"I'm protecting his modesty," Natalie replied, sounding as if she thought this was obvious.

"Oh come on, Natalie, he's a damn cat," Helen quipped. "I swear to God if you weren't my goddaughter I would smack some more sense into you."

"I have plenty of sense," Natalie snapped, sounding defensive just as Cid Junior's curiosity got the better of him.

"Too late, girl," Helen snickered as the black tabby cat broke away from Natalie's blinding hand and jumped out of reach.

"Hey, come back here," Natalie snapped at the cat, which was doing no such thing as he observed the events from atop the carriage's couch.

Helen ignored this and stuffed her head through the combat tunic's top. She quickly followed up by putting an arm down each of its sleeves, pausing only to adjust the fit of the black leather outfit. It was only when she reached to do the backside's buttons that things proved difficult.

"Here, allow me," Renée offered.

"I'd forgotten how tight these were," Helen grimaced as Renée finished with the buttons.

The pauldrons took a few minutes more to put on with Renée's help, but eventually they were securely on her shoulders. She turned to find Natalie clutching the black tabby cat, petting him to the point that he had fallen asleep in her arms. Cid Jr. was fast asleep, his legs splayed out with his belly pointed skyward. For once, Helen had to suppress a laugh. She walked to the carriage's door before a thought struck her.

"Almost forgot something," Helen quipped before she turned back.

Helen plunged her hand down the front of Natalie's gown and scooped out the handwritten note.

"Give me that back!"

Renée looked shocked at this sudden turn of events, while Natalie's face had turned bright red with embarrassment as she tried to grab the note. Helen held the note up and out of reach of the teenager before looking at it.

Natalie angrily shouted, "Do you have any decency whatsoever?!"

Helen pointed out, "If I did your mother would have found out six months ago. Looks like another note from Pierre."

Natalie declared, "My mother can't control who I love."

"No, but she damn well can control who you marry," Renée interjected. "You are a Princesse, Natalie. You can't just carry on an affair with some peasant boy behind her back."

Natalie shot back, "So it's fine then to carry on an affair with a nobleman behind her back then, hmm? You think I don't know about you and—"

"Say one more word and you're going to get my fist in your face," Renée threatened.

"Alright, alright, that's enough you two," Helen snapped, putting herself between the two unruly princesses. "Natalie, you're coming with me, and Renée…"

Renée sat back and looked up at her quizzically, "Yes?"

"Just remember she's my goddaughter the next time you threaten her," Helen pointed out.

* * *

The mysterious man Claire had glimpsed earlier had noticed he was being tailed. Unfortunately it was a bit hard to remain anonymous in the crowd while running around in a dark green formal dress. He'd glimpsed back, his eyes shielded from view underneath the shadows of his hood. The man hadn't reacted instantly, but instead had picked up the pace. It might have been easy to follow him ordinarily, but the streets were jammed on coronation day and she already regretted not wearing pants.

As the man picked up the pace 100 yards in front of her, Claire chanced a glance down to rip a pair of slits into her dark green dress. Raki would be apoplectic, but she didn't have time to care. It was either the dress or catching the mysterious man she'd spotted earlier. A glance up found him nearly out of sight towards the end of the street. There it came to an end in a row of blockhouses, while two other streets joined into it from the left and right sides.

The dark-clothed man nimbly threaded his way between two carriages going in opposite directions. She broke into a run, or as close to one as she could. Claire had just lost sight of the man as the carriages passed each other when she accidentally bumped a man.

The bearded man glared as she kept going, shouting, "Look where you're going, crazy witch!

Claire was seriously tempted to go back and knock him out, but bit her lip and kept going. She was rewarded for her efforts by feeling an unpleasant squishing beneath her right shoe. A glance down found her shoe in the middle of a horse turd.

Claire pulled her foot out, all the while cursing, "Goddamn this shit."

Nearly half a minute later, she managed to push her way through the less than obliging crowd to get to where she'd last seen the mysterious man. He had seemingly vanished into thin air, and even her super-sensitive nose could not help. Claire had not managed to catch a scent of the man via discarded cloth, and even if she had, the smell of shit, foul water and the local tanneries would have overwhelmed her nose.

A glance left found the cobblestone streets clogged with people and buggies, with laundry hanging out to dry over the street on long lines. A number of people had draped national flags and even the royal family's flag from their windows, lending the scene a colorful appearance. The sheer amount of detail overwhelmed her eyes, and she found no trace of the man to the left.

An immediate glance to the right did no better, for although the blockhouses were more widely spaced out, the amount of people made it almost impossible to spot someone who didn't want to be found. All she could see, for blocks in either direction, were huge crowds of people, countless displays of patriotism via royal and national flags, and innumerable horse carts, food stands, and classy carriages. The density of it all was overwhelming; it was clear she had lost sight of her target.

Claire threw up her hands in disgust at her luck.

"Merde," was all she could curse.

Miria had nearly been assassinated and she had already lost track of a man Claire suspected had been involved with that act.

"Buy your fresh bread here," a woman cried out.

"Give fish to your family," an elderly woman's voice shouted from another direction.

A sweet voice interrupted Claire's thoughts, "Are you looking for that man in black who passed by?"

Claire turned to find a short, young nun behind her, wearing a dark blue dress and a white habit, her eyes obscured underneath. Only a few strands of blond hair managed to stick out, though this was a strange thing for a nun. Claire thought that perhaps, given the nun's obvious youth, her sisters may have let this minor lapse go.

Claire hesitated before replying simply, "Oui."

"I last saw him going that way. He turned left at the first intersection," the nun informed her. "You're trying to catch him, no?"

"Oui," Claire affirmed, "and thanks."

Claire rushed to the left without another word, where the nun had last pointed. It would have been easier chasing after the man on the rooftops far above, but even she could not jump the five stories needed to reach the rooftops above. It would also make her easy to spot.

Claire brushed back a horse cart, narrowly missing yet another turd upon the cobblestones in the process, and then turned upon reaching the intersection the nun mentioned. She was surprised to find the man in black the nun mentioned not more than 100 paces away, talking to a young male cobbler.

He didn't see her at first, for Claire was approaching him through a rush of people.

It was only when she passed by a horse cart and came into plain view that he glanced to his right and yelped.

"Hey, stop! Stop that man," Claire shouted as he took off running.

He bowled over a pair of elderly women, jumped over a horse cart in an amazing display of agility, and bounded left into an alleyway. Aggravatingly for her, chasing after him did not prove so easy, for the man's flight had set off a panic in the streets. The crowds around her scrambled in all directions, knocking Claire back. This made forcing her way through both hazardous and slow. By the time she had weaved and pushed her way through to the alleyway, Claire estimated some ten seconds had passed.

It was enough however to catch a glimpse of the dark-clothed man running hell for leather into the next street. She jumped over a beggar and into the alleyway, hitting full stride in just four paces. The mysterious man for his part was forced to vault another horse cart as he entered the next street. A piece of cloth on his back snagged on a corner post of the cart as he jumped over the cart, but not enough to scrub the landing. He soon disappeared from view behind a carriage.

By the time Claire reached the street, he had once again disappeared into the crowded streets of Rabona. There would be blond-haired nun to help her this time however, but luckily Claire knew she would not require such help. Instead she rushed back and snatched the piece of ripped black cloth off the cobblestones as a crowd of curious onlookers gathered.

"Let's see you get away now, old man," Claire murmured with satisfaction as she took in his scent through several successive sniffs.

What few people realized about claymores was that it was claymores had more than just superhuman eyesight and hearing. They also had a sense of smell that one trainer had confided to another, whilst unaware of her being nearby, that "rivaled a dog's". It had been how she had first marked that Raki's household had contained a Yoma in disguise all those many years ago. Unable to track the man down otherwise, Claire knew she had no choice but to trust her nose.

'If all else fails,' her ex-handler Rubel Louvre had once advised her, 'you can always rely upon your nose. But be wary; a scent may be blown away by the wind before too long."

Claire had no intention of letting the scent get away from her.

An opportunistic, elderly seamstress approached and asked, "May I help you, silver-eyed lady?"

Claire gave her a chance, "Did you see which way a man dressed all in black ran?"

The old woman shook her head, "I'm terribly sorry, no. Would you mind if I helped mend your dress?"

"I don't have time for such things," Claire bluntly told the woman.

"Come back when you feel like wearing something respectable," the woman hissed.

Claire was tempted to slap the woman for her money-grubbing insolence, but instead Claire took another sniff of the ripped cloth and set off. Annoyingly, as she followed the scent through the air, the crowd of onlookers followed after her. This kept on for half a minute as she followed the scent first to the right, and then straight down an alleyway. By the time she had passed over a small brick bridge over one of Rabona's innumerable small canals, her patience had worn thin with her noisy followers.

Claire rounded on the dozen young men, women and teenagers following her and snapped, "Go follow someone else!"

The small crowd of young people stopped in their tracks but didn't walk away.

When Claire started following the scent again, several of the young men kept following. Having a crowd of followers was no way to catch anyone, so Claire exhaled and rounded one last time on the four individuals still following her.

"If any of you so much as follows me one more step, I'll knock you senseless," she threatened.

This time the threat worked, for a minute later, as she looked back around a street corner, she saw none of them still following her. She might have celebrated for the realization that she could catch no whiffs of the scent she had been following.

Claire complained to herself, "Why is it nothing ever goes to plan?"

She was forced to double back as the sun set ever lower in the western sky. Finally, as the tops of the houses around her reflected the orange glow of sunset, she caught the scent. It was faint, barely detectable in the midst of a sea of scents from people, buildings and animals. This time she followed the scent quickly, and allowed herself a small grin when the scent led down to a small canal.

"You're not going to get away that easily," Claire murmured.

Few humans realized it, but if there was no wind, one's scent could actually linger in the air above water for hours. She jumped into the foot-deep water, nearly losing her footing as she landed. Claire walked as quietly as she could now. The scent eventually led out of the water, and then led to another ankle-deep canal. She followed the scent a few more blocks south, when it finally led up a small flight of brick stairs. The stairs led to a cobblestone courtyard, which was rimmed on three sides by four-story blockhouses. A small ivy-covered brick wall separated the courtyard from the canal, except for the stairs connecting the courtyard and canal.

Claire exhaled in disbelief, for there, not thirty paces from her, was the mysterious dark-clad man who'd fled earlier. He wore black pants, and loose-fitting black cloth with a black hood. His face was marked by a bent, broken nose and a pair of shrewd, piercing gray eyes. In his hand was a wine glass, which he appeared to be sipping nonchalantly while watching her approach. His complete composure made her very uncomfortable.

Claire glanced around to see if he had armed friends, but her eyes found no one.

"Guten Abend, mein alte Freund," the man said in a strange, coarse-sounding language.

Claire approached slowly, coming to within twenty paces of the man. He merely sipped the wine from his glass before sitting back as she got closer.

Claire snapped, "Who are you?"

The man replied in the foreign tongue once more, "Wer bin ich? Kommt schon, Claire. Du solltest das Antwort wissen."

Claire drew a knife out of her dress' left sleeve, holding it outwards, "I don't know how you know my name or what the hell the rest of that was, but I'll give you the chance to surrender. If you confess your involvement in the attempt on Reine Miria's life, I'll ask them to be lenient."

For once the dark-clad, elderly man laughed and replied in her tongue, "Is that how far your country has fallen? Shall I be declared guilty before being proven innocent?"

Claire crept a few steps closer before snapping, "Then why did you run?"

The mysterious man took out a strange pipe, lit one large end of it, and slipped the smaller end into his mouth. He soon was puffing out a strange, foul-smelling smoke.

"The Bretonese call it tobacco," the man explained.

"I didn't ask about the smoke," Claire hissed, as she brandished a second knife in her right hand.

The elderly man scoffed, "Is that the way of it? You suddenly, without warning, begin racing after me because what? You suspect me of something? Now, when I don't want to come, you threaten me with knives? Is this how low you Rabonese have fallen in your paranoia?"

Claire had heard enough, "You fled from the scene and you know my name, even though I do not know yours! I can spot a spy as well as anyone."

The man doffed his black hat to reveal a vaguely familiar bald head.

The suspect favored her with a sinister smile before speaking in his strange, coarse tongue, "Es tut mir leid."

A moment later the man reached for something under the table, and a moment later drew something metallic and cylindrical with his left hand. He laid it on the table within easy reach, making his point obvious.

Claire made a startling realization, "Rubel? How are you still alive?"

The man clapped, "You put it together at last."

"That pistol isn't going to stop me, Rubel," Claire reminded him.

"No, but she can," Rubel said almost nonchalantly, pointing pointed behind her.

Claire felt a surge of adrenaline throughout her body as she turned. The last thing she saw was a huge blade coming down upon her.

* * *

"You have some bloody cheek, telling her where I went," Rubel hissed in disapproval.

He was standing over Claire's unconscious body, which was still lying in the same square where moments earlier she'd been knocked out. Claire lay on her back, a bad bruise upon the warrior's forehead. It came from the immense claymore sword being held by a young woman dressed in a nun's outfit. All around them, glowing with the light of the sunset, were countless three, four and five story Rabonese blockhouses. Dividing them all was the canal from whence Claire had come.

"If you didn't want her coming after you, you should have stayed where you were," his compatriot admonished.

Rubel reached down to take Claire's pulse while countering, "Claire noticed me up in the rafters well before I left the cathedral. How long do you think my disguise would have held up when she came up to see me? I didn't want to take the chance, Katrin, and you made the situation much worse."

Katrin put away the blade into a holster upon her back before explaining, "I made the situation better. She won't trouble us anymore once we take care of her. I thought that was what you wanted. How else are we going to destabilize the royal government if your old subordinate is running around the capital?"

"We would have managed like last time," Rubel pointed out.

Katrin noisily kicked the knives away from Claire's outstretched hands.

Katrin raised an eyebrow, scoffing, "I seem to remember you wound up with that broken nose and had to fake your death to escape Rabona the last time."

Rubel kneeled down over Claire and ran a hand through her hair, "Claire was not the one who gave me the broken nose. You know, I remember when I first met her. She was little more than a frightened girl. She wouldn't stop crying the whole first week after her surgery."

Katrin grabbed his pistol from the nearby table as he talked.

"She's going to wake up eventually," Katrin pointed out, "and then what?"

Rubel sat down upon the small of Claire's back while patting her shoulders, "Let me enjoy my memories for a little longer, Katrin."

Katrin, agitated, declared bluntly, "She still has to die."

"And she will," Rubel placated, "just not yet. Now where was I?"

Katrin shook her head and sighed, "the week after her surgery. I don't know why any of you bothered with her. I wouldn't make any girl who couldn't stop crying into one of us."

Katrin was a claymore herself, only unlike almost all of her kind she'd been hybridized by the enemies of the Romanow Empire, the Grand Alliance. Her kind had proved especially useful in espionage, which was why she was in Rabona with him.

Rubel managed the smallest of smiles at Katrin's comments, "Why my dear, Claire was something of an exception. She was hybridized with the remains of the most powerful warrior in the Organization's history, Teresa."

"So she was only a quarter Yoma," Katrin observed.

"At first we thought her a failure," Rubel explained while running a hand through Claire's hair. "She was originally ranked dead-last in abilities of all warriors that managed to graduate from training. But it was here in Rabona where that all changed. I'd sent her in to do a covert mission to take out a particularly strong Yoma."

"Which any warrior worth anything should have killed easily," Katrin interjected.

Rubel held out his hands and shrugged, "True, but Claire did manage it. She was in terrible shape after the battle and very nearly awakened. In fact, she partially awakened her body right here in Rabona that night. Claire was just the fourth claymore to do so."

Katrin looked intrigued as she asked, "And who was the first?"

"Claire's former friend, Phantom Miria," Rubel stated coolly.

Katrin looked confused as she tucked the pistol onto her gun belt, "Former friend?"

Rubel sighed, "Even comrades can have squabbles. The Reine still hasn't forgiven Claire for handling her adopted daughter Natalie roughly. Claire was angry about her daughter Teresa hurting herself while Natalie was baby-sitting. Threw the girl onto the shit-covered streets, and that was after Miria had caught Claire saying bad things about her behind her back. Or so I've heard from those who were there."

Katrin crossed her hands and sternly commented, "Kind of ironic given her husband is such a staunch friend of the royal family. So why didn't you try to kill off these four partially awakened warriors when you had the chance?"

Rubel for once got up and looked down at Claire as he replied quietly, "I did. I put them up against a powerful male Awakened Being. Unfortunately they managed to survive, and you know the results of that as well as I. I do not need to be reminded, Katrin."

The results of their survival took a long time to play out, but eventually it had deadly consequences for the Dragonkin-led Grand Alliance. The Organization was overthrown, just as he'd wanted. However after the knowledge of partial awakening was given to all the surviving rebels, a lone silver-eyed loyalist kidnapped the former No.3, Audrey, and took her to the mainland. The knowledge certainly had not helped the Dragonkin fight the now more potent silver-eyed warriors. But it was the fact that Audrey's arrival had saved a silver-eyed warrior descended from a deposed line of Comnenian kings that had changed things most.

He still blamed himself for the debacle, even if his superiors said nothing. Had the four warriors died as intended, there would be no silver-eyed empress. No Romanow Empire threatening to destroy the Grand Alliance. No horrific defeat. Now there were not one but two silver-eyed dynasties in the making, and each was allied to the other. At the time he had greeted the warrior's survival nonchalantly. After all, the four survivors were to be assigned to yet another "suicide mission". Regrettably they proved cannier at surviving than he expected.

Thinking about what had come with their survival steeled his mind to do what had to be done. Indeed, it was what he should have done minutes earlier.

"Katrin, hand me my pistol," Rubel ordered.

He took it from Katrin's outstretched hand and cocked the wheel back.

"Claire, I am sorry that it has to come to this, my dear," Rubel apologized. "You were without doubt the most interesting warrior I was ever assigned to handle."

Rubel felt a tear streak down a cheek as he watched Claire's chest rise and fall as she breathed. She looked incredibly peaceful despite the large, red bruise upon her forehead.

Katrin offered, "You don't have to do this."

Rubel wiped away the tear before shrugging off Katrin's offer, "Kind of you to offer, Katrin, but no. If I can't bring myself to do this, then I will have failed my training. Spies must be willing to sever all attachments. Claire, I regret it had to come to this."

Rubel struggled to point the gun towards Claire, but finally he managed to point the pistol at Claire's head. All it took now was one shot and Claire would be gone forever.

Katrin yelped, "Look out!"

Jolted, Rubel accidentally hit the trigger while looking up for the new threat.


	4. Chapter 4: A Play for Power

**Chapter 4: A Play for Power**

* * *

**The New Leviathans**

By C. Havel

_The era in which "Phantom" Miria became Miria I, Queen of Toulouse, was one of unprecedented change in the power of governments. In much of the rest of the world, there had been a strong resurgence in central authority in the centuries preceding the Global War. Philosophers waxed poetic over 'the divine right of kings' to rule while kings amassed ever more authority in their central governments. Many things led to this development, including the rise in trade, the accompanying growth in cities, the use of gunpowder weapons, and the annihilation of many noble houses in bloody wars of succession. In general the period saw more than its share of civil strife, with disagreements settled violently more often than by peaceful means._

_In the Kingdom of Breton, this re-centralization of power eventually led to a civil war between the king and Parliament. The war saw the executions of the king and his brothers, as well as the exile of his wife, sister and sons to the Kingdom of Comnenia. The Bretonese Republic soon became a laughable illusion as its leader turned into a dictator. Upon the dictator's death, the heir of the late king returned with Comnenian mercenaries and routed the bickering lieutenants of the foundering Republic in battle. Anointed as King Richard IV, he nevertheless was forced to acknowledge the superiority of the Bretonese Parliament on matters of law, taxes and trade. Despite this, he was not a powerless monarch, and the backing of his powerful aunt, now Queen Anna of Comnenia, was instrumental in ensuring he was taken seriously._

_The Comnenian royal family in contrast had been successful more than a century prior in annihilating most of the checks upon their power via armed conflict. As a result, Comnenian kings were able to rule as absolute monarchs right up till King Lech II's rule was overthrown by Katarzyna Romanowa. The Romanows succeeded in not only deposing Lech's familial line, but also overthrowing all but one of the eleven remaining royal families heading the Alliance of Nations. Amongst the casualties of the coup was Richard IV's aunt, Queen Anna, leading to severely strained relations between the Romanows and the Bretonese. This tension compounded the difficulty Katarzyna I had holding her empire together when it was made up of so many different nations. Unsurprisingly the new imperial monarchy employed a less-than-absolute form of monarchical rule to garner more popular support. Tensions arose over whether this was to be a long-term trend or a temporary expediency._

_In Toulouse, the transition towards greater central authority had similarly seen a spike in violence and political strife. The first such transition had been accomplished by Lord Mayor Zaehringen, who used the power of armed mobs to press the Rabona Orthodox Church into giving up total government control. Later Rabona managed to defeat the bandit King Charles' army, leading to its reassertion of control over the entire island when it unified with the Kingdom of Lautrec. The new monarch attempted a coup, which was stopped by forces loyal to "Phantom" Miria. Miria later stopped an attempted army coup against the new Parlement, for which she was unanimously declared to be the Kingdom of Lautrec's new constitutional monarch in gratitude._

_Miria was supposed to be like Richard IV; a relatively powerless but popular monarch beholden to an elected Parliament. In fact the powers of the Parlement du Toulouse were modeled on the Bretonese Parliament. The problem was that unlike Richard IV, Miria commanded a large professional army, was wealthy enough to fund great chunks of the government, and was also immensely popular. Advocates of a strong centralizing monarchy, like the queen's husband, Cid, pushed hard for Miria to assume ever more powers and prevent the "corrupt" Parlement from "ruining the country". Some members of Parlement pushed back, becoming ever more worried as Miria's position became more than just a figurehead position. As the kingdom grew wealthier, Miria was faced with a choice as to just what kind of monarch she wished to be and how high a price she was prepared to pay for it._

* * *

Audrey hated waiting on Andrei, particularly when he was off doing something dangerous, but he'd given her no choice. After Claire had irresponsibly rushed after a mysterious man possibly involved in the assassination attempt on the queen, Andrei had taken charge. He was going to try to track down Claire and make sure she was alright while she, Audrey, was to bring the kids to the embassy to protect them. Claire's children were, at that time, only being protected by a single silver-eyed warrior, Alexandra.

"My lady, His Excellency will be fine," a long-haired, silver-eyed man reassured her.

"I wish I could be as confident as you, Josef," Audrey sighed.

Josef was a muscular, good-looking former warrior who just so happened to be a good friend of Andrei's and was also a former member of the Silver Guard. He was the Deputy Imperial Ambassador of the Romanow Empire in Rabona, and dressed the part, wearing a black and gold outfit layered with rich fabric. His hair was his most remarkable feature, for it was perfectly straight and draped down upon his shoulders.

"Andrei went with a full squad of our finest guards," Josef assured her, placing a large gloved hand upon her shoulder. "He will be fine. Before he was made an ambassador, he was sent on missions far more dangerous than looking after another warrior."

"I'd rather not know, Josef," Audrey murmured.

Audrey turned away from Josef and looked out upon the sleeping city of Rabona yet again. Ordinarily the dark would have been easy for her to see the city in all its glory, however tonight it was cloudy and there was no moon to light the Rabonese skyline for her. It made it all but impossible to see more than a few blocks even with her superb vision, which only added to her anxiety given the day's terrifying events. Andrei had once said he found the dark of night soothing; it produced nothing but anxiety for her in contrast.

"He'll be fine, my dear," Josef assured her, placing a hand upon her shoulder.

"I suppose," Audrey replied, not entirely convinced.

"Now I really must get back to work," Josef told her.

Audrey frowned, "At this hour?"

Josef Lazarov smiled as he reached the balcony's door and pulled it open, "Espionage never stops. Dobry wieczór, pani."

Audrey sighed, "Dobranoc, Josef."

The door shut behind Josef, leaving Audrey alone to contemplate her thoughts whilst anxiously watching over what little she could see of the darkened Rabona skyline. She strained her eyes to see through the dark and cloud, managing to catch a glimpse of the large, triple-spired Cathédrale Notre Dame De Teresa to the northeast. It was a magnificent structure that truly towered over the rest of the city, but apart from a few windows, it was completely dark. Audrey stiffened at what sounded like a faint scream in the distance, but after a half minute of waiting nothing more followed. She folded her arms, warming her upper arms with her hands in anxiety as yet another stiff, cool breeze blasted past her.

The sounds of horses' hooves caught her attention, and Audrey whipped around to look for the source. She caught the faintest of blurs go out of her sight near a massive building positively brimming with lamp and candlelight, inside and out.

"What's going on over there," she murmured.

She might not have to wait long to find out; it was Josef's job to find out such things, after all. The massive building, or rather its esteemed occupants, Reine Miria I and her husband, Roi Cid, were the subjects of immense interest to the Romanow Embassy. This was especially true in light of the day's events, from which Audrey and everyone else were recovering. A part of her could practically see Miria, bloodied, a little traumatized and bewildered, being bandaged up and told by her physicians to get some rest or else.

The building that was the royals' home had once been the home of the Premier, Ruud van Willems, and had recently been renamed the Palais Malaga. Although it was a magnificent urban manor, it did not dominate the skyline the way Rabona's cathedral did. There were no parts of it any taller than six stories, which kept it from true prominence, especially when the neighboring manors were only a story or two shorter. It lacked the truly impressive central tower Lord Mayor Zaehringen had built into his home, which in turn Audrey's husband had purchased for a pittance after Zaehringen's untimely demise.

As Audrey stared at the Palais Malaga's mist-shrouded outline through the dark of night, she felt a bit of pride bite into the fear in her heart. Andrei may or may not be in danger, but she could at least pride herself on his quick wits. Following Miria's sudden and unexpected elevation to the throne by a grateful Parlement, she had cast around to find a temporary residence in Rabona worthy of her new position. While she had been mulling whether or not to buy Zaehringen's old residence, Andrei had swooped in and bought it right out from under the Reine's nose to serve as the new Romanow embassy. Despite its ornate interior, the Palais Malaga simply could not compare to the spectacular architecture of the new Romanow embassy.

With it off the market, Miria had been forced to buy her current "merely adequate" residence as a result. Quite how Josef heard all these details Audrey would dearly like to know, but Andrei had put his foot down and refused to divulge anything. According to what little she heard, coming in and out of Andrei's office, Miria was determined to look and act the part of royal sovereign. She had formed a well-trained and armored Garde Royale, had two spectacular crowns created, was planning to triple the size of the Palais Malaga, transported herself in a dozen of the finest imported coaches ever made, commissioned dressmakers to build the most extravagant creations yet seen, wore more fine jewelry than Audrey had ever seen before, had her portrait painted and distributed, and even had her claymore sword ornately decorated. It was all a bit much in Audrey's opinion, but then again, perhaps Miria was compensating for the fact that she could not conceive a child with her human husband.

Audrey heard the door open again and turned to find a maidservant.

The maidservant curtsied while looking down, "Dobry wieczór, pani. Master Lazarov bids me tell you that Mister de Lautrec has come. He wished to see his children and thank you for taking care of them."

Audrey snapped into action, "Have someone escort him up to the great hall. Tell him I'll be down to see him as soon as I can."

"Of course, my lady," the young maidservant acknowledged before leaving.

Audrey spared the skyline of Rabona one last glance before heading inside. Upon entering, she found herself in the always familiar tower library, which was opulently decorated with tapestries, paintings, globes, maps, reading chairs and tables. In contrast its maple bookcases were barely stocked, although Audrey had collected some more books since they moved in. The paucity of books was due to both the times and the famous former resident, as Lord Mayor Zaehringen had died before he had been able to stock the library with much cheaper printed books that had recently become common in Rabona. Out of the corner of her eye Audrey spied the library's staircase, by which the maidservant was now waiting.

Audrey headed down the spiral staircase as she followed after the green-clad maidservant; they passed floor after floor, going ever lower but somehow still being far above much of Rabona's skyline faintly visible through each floor's arched windows. Eventually they reached a floor more sumptuously carpeted in red than prior floors, and Audrey knew she had reached her family's master suite. It was here that she and Andrei lived in the master bedroom on the fourteenth floor, while the boys slept in separate rooms on the thirteenth floor, along with a governess. The 12th floor featured Andrei's personal office, along with Josef's next to it, while Josef lived alone in an elegant suite on the 11th floor.

Audrey had to go downstairs to the boys' floor, so she followed the maidservant down one more winding spiral staircase until a young silver-eyed boy ran past them. He was dressed in elegant green trousers and a fine white shirt, his little brown leather shoes clomping against the plush blue carpet. Audrey reached out and caught her son with one arm and picked him up.

"And where do you think you're running off to?"

Little Andrei squirmed in her grip and complained adorably, "Matka, let me go!"

Audrey smiled, "And why should I do that? It's well past your bedtime."

Her son pouted, "Matka, let me go. I'm playing hide-and-seek!"

Audrey heard a woman's voice call out in Toulousain, "Ready or not, here I come!"

"Oh alright," Audrey agreed, setting her son down, "but this is your last game."

Little Andrei rushed off to hide; disappearing around the corner to the right just as a familiar silver-eyed female walked around the corner to Audrey's left.

"I see you've been keeping the children entertained, Alexandra," Audrey remarked.

Alexandra had a perplexed, confused look upon her face, which made Audrey realized she'd just spoken to her old friend in Comnenian.

Audrey immediately switched into Toulousain, "My apologies, Alexandra, I see you're playing hide-and-seek."

Alexandra flicked a braided ponytail over one shoulder and nodded, "Your boy is very good at hiding. Teresa, however ... "

Alexandra was still wearing her fine green dress from earlier, when Audrey had come to the Lautrec's home to escort their children to the safety of the Romanow Embassy. Alexandra held up an index finger for silence and grinned as she silently walked across the plush red carpeting towards a cabinet. Audrey thought she heard a giggle coming from inside of it.

With a silky smooth move of her arm, Alexandra threw open the cabinet to reveal little, curly-haired Teresa. The girl let out a delighted squeal and tried to make a run for it, but Alexandra was quicker and scooped her up with one arm.

Alexandra rubbed noses with the girl, who was dressed in trousers, a black vest and frilly white sleeves. This did not surprise or bother Audrey, but she'd heard Teresa's boyish behavior had necessitated it. Claire had run into quite a bit of scorn for it, but that was from mostly human mothers who could not understand Teresa's boundless energy.

Alexandra exclaimed, "I found you! Let's go get your brother."

Audrey didn't have the time for the game to continue, so she cleared her throat to get Teresa's attention.

Audrey told the two, "Teresa, your father is coming to see you. Where is your brother?"

Teresa pointed down the hall to a closet, which Audrey opened to find Victor within, hiding behind several old trunks.

Audrey picked him up just as Alexandra walked up. Victor, compared to her son, proved much more pliant.

Victor instead plaintively asked, " The game is over?"

Audrey nodded, "Oui. Your father is here. Can you go down in the hall and wait?"

Alexandra set down Teresa at the same time Audrey set down Victor, and the twins immediately set off running towards the spiral staircase.

Alexandra yelled after them, "Do not run!"

The warning not to run only modestly altered their pace, and soon they were out of sight but noisily going down the stairs.

Alexandra confided, " Audrey, I wanted to thank you again for helping me to protect the children. When I heard that people had tried to kill the Reine, I was sure that someone would try to take children hostage. You have no idea the relief it was to see you arrive."

Audrey did not need to be thanked yet again for bringing the Lautrec children to the Romanow Embassy, but she appreciated Alexandra's sincerity. She could certainly appreciate why Alexandra was so worried about Teresa and Victor. The twins had previously been taken hostage during a failed coup attempt against Parlement. Miria had put an end to that, while Cid had selflessly rescued the children. Raki had nominated Miria to be queen in gratitude, and Parlement had unanimously endorsed his choice. It stood to reason, in Audrey's opinion, that the same people willing to attempt killing the Reine might also go after the children of her most prominent backer. It was for this reason that Audrey had immediately rushed over to the Lautrec house to collect Alexandra and the children.

Alexandra had looked like the weight of the world was lifting off her shoulders upon seeing Audrey and her guards. Once in the embassy Audrey let the twins play with her son, while little Dominique was put in the nursery next to her littlest one, Josef, who was named after Andrei's old friend. Audrey had left a message at the address and sent off a messenger to find Raki and tell him what had happened.

Audrey smiled and reminded Alexandra, " You would have done the same thing."

Audrey assured her friend that she would have done the same, only she wasn't sure Alexandra would have done the same, but it felt like the right thing to say. Audrey heard a cry from the nursery down the hall a moment later.

" I'll take care of them," Audrey told her friend.

Alexandra nodded and walked down the spiral staircase to join the twins and await their father, who judging by his yoki signature, was more than a little tense. Audrey for her part walked down the hall past several arched windows on one side and hanging paintings on the other. She opened the nursery's fine maple door to find the elderly governess rocking Claire's son Dominique in her arms. He however was still noisily crying, which had woken up little Josef in his crib. Josef joined in, and soon the room was a cacophony of babies' cries.

The squinty-eyed governess bowed her head upon Audrey's approach, "I'm terribly sorry, my lady. This young one is proving very hard to please. Perhaps he's hungry? Shall I call Josef's wet nurse?"

Audrey shook her head, "I'll feed him myself."

The governess handed her the crying Dominique, who was swaddled from head to foot. He stopped crying for a moment upon seeing her silver-eyed face, a confused look upon his face. Then as she held him, he must have figured out that she was not his mother, for he resumed crying again.

Audrey unbuttoned the left front of her dress and brought Dominique mouth close to her teat. Within seconds he had stopped crying and was greedily suckling from her breast.

Audrey commented, "Boys, they're all the same, aren't they?"

The governess was confused, "My lady?"

Audrey smiled, "No matter what their age, they all like a woman's nipples."

The governess chuckled before asking, "Shall I feed your son while you attend our guests?"

Audrey nodded, "I'm sure he'll be fine with his bottle."

Audrey carefully headed back out the nursery's open door while nursing Dominique, who was trying his hardest to suck her teat dry.

Audrey cooed, "You're a greedy one, aren't you?"

Dominique looked up at her with his big eyes, a quizzical expression on his face. He kept suckling though, even as she descended the spiral staircase and entered the great hall. This was 3 stories tall and full of arched, painted glass windows. The floor was made up of a flawless white and black marble, while the room's columns were made of granite coated in green marble. At one end of the room, near a grand doorway, was Raki.

He was holding a twin in either arm, looking somewhat relieved to find them happy and healthy. Alexandra appeared to be saying goodbye, and walked off just as Audrey was approaching. Raki was not an unhandsome figure, and she could tell he was well-built despite him still wearing his coronation day finest. His hair was a bit unkempt, but this was forgivable given the day's traumatic events. Raki looked as if he'd been working all day, as his eyes were bloodshot and droopy-lidded.

Victor meanwhile was experimenting with his picking a bugger out of his nose but struggling to get it out. Teresa reached over however to help out her brother, and soon flicked the incriminating evidence out of sight.

Raki saw this, admonishing his daughter, "Hey, hey, hey! What did I tell you about picking your brother's nose, Teresa?"

Teresa sulked at this reproach. Raki soon set the twins down as Audrey approached and handed each twin a handkerchief.

He reminded them, " I already told you not to pick your nose. If you have a problem, use a handkerchief! You're lucky your mother was not here to see it."

Audrey tried to hold back a knowing smile. Getting little children to properly behave was like an art form, she'd learned.

Raki surprised Audrey by hugging her, "I'm grateful you have such concern for my children, Audrey. I do wish you'd brought them to me first though."

Raki pulled out of the hug, leaving her a little taken aback at his language.

Audrey asked in disbelief, "You speak Comnenian?"

Raki shrugged, "Had to learn it last year. We had that one maidservant who could barely speak a proper word of Toulousain. Claire learned a little of it herself, but I'm afraid to tell you she's still terrible at it. The twins only picked up the basics when Alexander was their tutor, which left me to give all the orders. I see Dominique has been well-fed. May I hold him?"

"Of course, of course," Audrey agreed, being jolted by Raki's casual mention of Alexander Comnenus.

Audrey handed Dominique over to his careful father, who gingerly cradled the boy with the utmost care in his arms. Dominique however was not terribly happy at being taken away from his milk supply, and soon was crying.

"Oh shush," Raki gently said in Comnenian to his youngest son.

It took nearly ten seconds of fatherly patting and rocking to quiet the little one. Audrey smiled when Dominique finally closed his eyes in his father's arms.

"I've had to get much better at this," Raki sighed. "Victor!"

Raki snapped his fingers at his elder son, who was meanwhile looking, bug-eyed, straight at her exposed left breast.

Raki admonished his son in Toulousain, "Victor, il n'est pas poli de regarder la poitrine d'une femme."

Audrey belated switched back to listening in Toulousain to hear Raki snap, "Victor, it's not polite to look at the breast of a woman. "

"Oh, how forgetful of me," Audrey blushed. "I forgot to cover up again."

She quickly re-buttoned her dress up at the collar, though amusingly Victor only reluctantly pulled his eyes away. Teresa for her part appeared rather less interested in female anatomy than her brother, and was drowsily looking around the room.

"It's alright," Audrey assured Raki, "boys will be boys."

"I appreciate that," Raki confided, "but I don't want my son thinking that kind of behavior is acceptable."

Audrey commented dryly, "Doesn't stop most men."

Raki countered, "Well I don't want him to be like most men. Do you know where Claire went? I presume she left the children with you, no?"

Audrey suddenly felt awkward, "Well actually Andrei went out to go look for her. She was last seen trying to follow someone after the assassination attempt."

Raki began to pace back and forth and complained, "She told me this would stop."

Audrey murmured, "I don't know what to tell you, Raki."

"What I should have done was put my foot down years ago and tell her no," Raki grumbled. "She keeps complaining her life doesn't have enough excitement."

Audrey was rather of the opinion that Claire and Raki likely wouldn't have married at all had he told her that he would only accept a boring life of domesticity with her. It might have worked for Raki; Audrey was pretty sure it would have bored Claire to tears.

'Though I do have to get Teresa, credit,' Audrey thought. 'That little girl of theirs is about as boring as lighting a crate full of fireworks.'

Teresa was watching her father more closely now, and then interrupted in Toulousain, "Papa, what are you and Mama's friend talking about?"

Raki, sounding both exasperated and worried, quickly replied, "Nothing that might concern you, Teresa."

This must have seemed an unsatisfactory answer, for the girl kept prodding, asking, "Tu es sur Papa?"

Raki's voice rose as he snapped, " Teresa, you remember what I told you about constantly asking questions?"

Teresa for once seemed to know better than to keep prodding her father about what was being discussed in Comnenian and instead walked off to sulk.

Below, Audrey could hear a plethora of raised voices. It was impossible to make out individual words due to the sheer number of voices, but she had an idea of what might be happening. Teresa and Victor both perked up hearing the sudden din below them.

Audrey clasped her hands nervously, "That might be Andrei right now."

"Then I'm coming with you," Raki declared. "Teresa, Victor, I want you to stay here while I go down, okay?"

The twins didn't look very happy at being told to wait where they were, but they didn't follow either. Audrey followed Raki as he quickly descended the great hall's staircase.

Raki tried to calmly walk down the stairs, but once out of the twin's sight he began to race, particularly when Audrey heard a large amount of yelling. Audrey could not keep pace with him in her silk evening dress, and he soon jumped off the stairs ahead of her onto the main hall's floor. Raki's head turned left at a renewed batch of yelling, and he soon rushed down a hall to the left and out of Audrey's sight.

By the time Audrey caught up, she found Raki and several men clustered around a pool table. It was in the embassy's game room, or billiards room, as the locals would call it. It was fairly roomy, walled in thick granite, topped with a maple ceiling, and filled with fine hanging tapestries, a window looking out onto a courtyard fountain, two billiards tables, beautiful paintings and a quartet of oil lamps lighting the room from above the two doorways.

"I want the embassy to have guards posted on the roof immediately," Josef growled at a pair of guards. "We are not going to be taken by surprise, gentlemen."

"Yes, Excellency," a quartet of guardsmen acknowledged.

Raki looked despondent on finding the commotion did not involve his wife.

Audrey walked up to Josef and prodded him for attention, "Where are Claire and my husband? Has Andrei returned—"

"Make way for the ambassador," a soldier entering the room bellowed.

A crush of soldiers came through the doorway at the far end of the room, all of them wearing cuirasses and wielding a mixture of muskets, swords and halberds. A moment later Andrei came walking in, holding a woman's limp body. The light was not very good, but Audrey could make out a bloody gash running down the woman's forehead.

Raki's body suddenly went limp, and he collapsed backwards upon Audrey. She just barely managed to catch his head before it hit the floor.

Audrey laid Raki's head down upon the floor before hurrying after Andrei, whose men parted to allow him a path to the nearest billiard table.

Audrey gasped, "Is she alive? I can't feel her yoki."

Andrei wiped his bloodied brow, "She's very fortunate to be alive."

Audrey blurted, "What happened?"

Andrei yanked a pair of bloodied gloves off his hands while shaking his head, "It was a near disaster, dear. By the time I found Claire, she was unconscious at the feet of a bald man dressed in black and a woman dressed as a nun. The man was aiming a pistol at her head and cocking the trigger, so I had to attack. Nearly took out the woman with my blade, and by the time I looked for the man, he was long gone. He left Claire something to remember him by though."

Andrei pointed to Claire's bloodied forehead, which had a long, thin wound down it, almost as if something had raked along her forehead.

Andrei sighed, "I scared the man enough to get him to miss blowing her brains out by a few inches. He still managed to graze her though," Andrei confided. "I need the embassy doctor here to sew up her forehead. We can't have her children see her like this. Now where is our doctor, Josef?"

Long-haired Josef exhaled, "We haven't been able to find him yet."

"Probably out whoring again," a guardsman interjected.

"Well then, Sergeant, you better go out and get him back here," Andrei remarked. "These wounds will leave a scar if we don't sew them up soon."

Audrey bent down to try to wake Raki, but he didn't stir.

"Fetch me some smelling salts," Andrei instructed a nearby maidservant.

"Yes, Excellency," the young woman nodded, hurrying off.

"He'll be fine," Andrei assured, "he's just taken a lot of shock. Audrey, I need you to go upstairs and take care of all the children. We can't risk them going back home, even if Alexandra was to stay up all night."

Audrey frowned, "Why? Well I mean, sure, dear, we can move them and their children into the spare bedrooms on the 9th floor."

Andrei whispered, "The woman I fought could only have been a silver-eyed slayer."

Audrey exclaimed, "So that's why the embassy is—"

"Shush," Andrei said, holding up a hand to her mouth, looking to make sure the guards hadn't overheard her, "we don't want to frighten the men. At the very least though, we've identified our prime suspect behind the attempt on the queen's life."

* * *

"When I get back out there, I swear to Gott I'm going to send that ambassador to hell," Katrin yelled out in pain.

Rubel, who was busy sewing up her innards, scolded, "If you want to move again on me, then feel free to sew up your own intestines."

With that Katrin held still and shut up for once as he went back to his work. She was lying on her back on a kitchen table still wearing the tattered remains of her nun outfit. There was blood all over the front of her clothes, much of it splattered from a nasty slash to her stomach.

Rubel reminded his young charge, "You're lucky he only cut a small ways into your belly. Had his blade cut your liver in two, all the Yoma energy and the finest surgery in the world could not have saved you."

"Some fucking luck," Katrin spat, clenching her fists in pain as he sewed.

Rubel had escaped the sudden confrontation due only to the fact that Andrei Tuluzy had been noticed by Katrin at the last moment. Katrin's quick swordplay had saved his life, though he had been so startled Rubel had fired prematurely by accident. He'd known as soon as he had fired the shot that Claire was not dead, instead, he had left her with a nasty, bloody graze.

He'd scrambled onto his feet, rushed to the nearby home's back door, burst through, went out the front, ran into a back alley, and then blended into the crowded streets a block beyond. It took an hour to assure himself he wasn't being tailed before he finally weaved his way to a safehouse. He'd been shocked to find a bloodied Katrin had already beat him there. She laid down on the table, bleeding profusely from a nasty slash to the belly. One glance was enough to know she was in no shape to go anywhere before she was sewn up.

Katrin asked while squirming in pain, "Can't I just heal this myself?"

Rubel sniffed in disagreement, "Our late ambassador made the mistake of underestimating the Romanows. He was assassinated on a ship by silver-eyed assassins, and I know for a fact we've only managed to kill one. There is at least one more, and if you use so much as a scintilla of Yoma energy, they'll find you. Or perhaps just as bad, you'll attract one of the many local warriors out of curiosity."

Katrin looked away in aggravation at the rest of the room. Rubel followed her gaze for a moment to a painting on the far wall. The room was not very large, even by dining room standards, and was walled in unvarnished oak. It was lit only by a small, crude chandelier full of burning candles up above. The chairs around the dining table had been haphazardly flung away from the table. The room's only other decoration was a cabinet, atop which Rubel had placed all of his surgical tools.

"We were lucky to escape with our lives," Rubel told his subordinate. "Andrei Tuluzy is one of the most dangerous male warriors alive today. Had he fought for the Organization, he could have been one of the weaker Number ones they had."

Katrin looked at him in incomprehension.

"It means he would have been the strongest warrior on this island at times," Rubel explained. "He was one of only two survivors in a group of 12 Silver Guardsmen that faced down Victoria McKenzie. I'm sure you've heard of her."

"Best swordfighter in history," Katrin murmured.

"There," Rubel said as he finished sewing up her large intestine, "your innards are finally back in one piece. It'll take a few minutes to sew your belly shut."

Rubel picked up a new thimble full of surgical line, threaded it through his sewing needle, and turned back to Katrin.

Rubel punctured Katrin's skin once, leading her to yelp "Scheiße".

Rubel ignored her cry of pain and kept sewing, slowly closing her wound. He was just finishing closing the final inch of Katrin's belly when there was a sound of footsteps outside. Rubel rushed to the dresser and grabbed his pistol while Katrin sat up, wincing in pain at the effort. A moment later a piece of paper slipped under the door as Rubel's heart raced. He heard several more footsteps before they faded to nothing.

He rushed to the folded paper and opened it.

Katrin gasped while clutching both her belly and her sword, "Who the hell was that?"

Rubel read from the letter, which was in Allemanian,

"Herr Rubel,

Wir haben viel zu besprechen. Kommen Sie in das Dorf von Malaga in fünf Tagen. Wir haben ein Angebot wert Ihre Zeit.

ein neuer Freund"

Rubel read the offer aloud, "Mister Rubel, we have much to discuss. Come to the village of Malaga in five days. We have an offer worth your time. A new friend."

Katrin mouthed in disbelief, "An offer worth your time? It's a Romanow trap."

Rubel held up a hand for silence, "If it were the Romanows just now, why wouldn't they just have killed us? Their ambassador tried nothing less than that just a half hour ago."

Katrin for once seemed at a loss for words for once as she brushed back her straight blond hair out of one of her eyes. Each was colored a rich green, due to the fact that while in Rabona she had to disguise her identity with Yoki pills.

"This sounds like someone who doesn't have the Romanows interests at heart," Rubel declared.

"They might not have ours at heart either," Katrin cautioned.

Rubel went back to sewing up the last of her wound. He weaved the surgical thread through her skin four more times and pulled. Katrin grimaced for a moment. Finally he cut the thread and tied the wound shut.

"There," Rubel pronounced, "your wound is closed. Make sure you don't eat anything for at least a day. Let me just make sure the wound is clean. Here you go."

"Scheiße!"

Katrin cursed out at his splashing a bottle of vodka against her belly wound.

Katrin snapped, "What the hell was that for?"

Rubel held up the vodka bottle, "You cannot use your Yoma energy to heal, and you're using Yoki pills to make your body act more like a human's. There's a chance your natural healing ability won't be able to prevent an infection. I've seen more than a few humans die of infected wounds, and vodka works wonders on those."

"You could have warned me," Katrin growled.

"I didn't take you for being the 'soft' type," Rubel countered. "This village of Malaga is the Roi's birthplace, no?"

Katrin nodded before looking back at her closed wound, "He hasn't been back there since he was fifteen. It's not a very large place, Rubel. Five hundred people at the most and only one tavern to stay at in the whole village. Everyone will mark you as an outsider."

Rubel smiled, "My dear, everyone from Rabona is an outsider there. The Kingdom of Toulouse didn't even conquer the southern lands entirely until six months ago. They're almost as nostalgic for the old days as those living in the western lands."

Katrin scoffed, "For what, war, anarchy and chaos?"

"Independence," Rubel answered.

* * *

Helen blinked her eyes open and stretched out her arms upon waking up, the light of the late morning filtering into her room.

She would have preferred being underneath an apple tree or even scrubbing the deck of one of the many ships docked in Rabona's riverside harbors. Instead, she had been stuck behind a desk or around a table all of the prior day. She had holed up in the Bastille, an island fortress guarding the main passage of the Toulouse River through Rabona. It was a six-story tall brick and stone fortress that resembled a miniature castle in appearance. In truth it had been designed as a prison, and had failed in this task when members of the Inquisition had attacked it. The result had been a disaster; at least one senior member of the Organization had escaped.

Supposedly the escapee had later met a horrific death at the hands of assassins, though Helen was not sure of the truth in such talk. She trusted her eyes much more than she did the idle gossip that passed for "news" in the capital's taverns. Now however she did not have to go to taverns to hear the news; her subordinates delivered it to her.

"What the hell am I doing?"

Helen had said it quietly to herself. She was seated at a large oak desk in an otherwise drab and not very bright office. Her sword laid against the back of desk, while a large map of the Isle of Toulouse hung from the stone wall opposite the desk. The room had only a pair of slit windows letting in light, which forced her to illuminate the orders and reports on her desk with a pair of oil lamps. The whole room was square-shaped and not more than two horse-lengths wide and long, though it did have a very tall ceiling.

She was still wearing the armor and combat tunic she'd donned in the carriage the day before, and it smelled like it. She had not been sweating from the weather, as the late spring weather was cool. It had been the stress of trying to secure Rabona, knowing that if there were any more incidents or attacks, she would solely be to blame for any failures of security, which caused her to break out in sweat. Luckily she had made it through the night without there being word of anything unexpected.

She'd fallen asleep at her desk sometime in the night from sheer exhaustion. There simply had not been time to go back to her house and sleep.

Suddenly the room's wooden door creaked and opened.

"Good morning, General," a perky female voice interrupted.

Walking into the room was a very familiar female claymore dressed in armor. She wore only a cuirass, a pair of pauldrons, gauntlets and held her open-faced steel helm with her right arm. She had a small, pointy nose, trim chin, big eyes and a large, monolithic hairbun that would have gotten anyone's attention. Helen belatedly noticed the claymore in question was wearing a small hand whip, which was hung from her belt.

"Why are you smirking?"

Helen was jolted into awareness by the piercing question. She immediately tried to change her face into a mask, which was not easy, as she was terrible at hiding her emotions.

"I'm sorry, Valencia," Helen apologized, "I was just amused by seeing the whip. Now what did you want?"

"I will have you now," Valencia sniffed in indignation, "that every man I have ever been with has asked me to use it on him. You would be amazed at how much—"

Helen tried to interrupt, "Valencia, I—"

Valencia however did not take the hint and kept right on going, "-it helps their erections. Hell, half the time, just bringing it out gets their manhood up. Of course, you want to not overdo the whipping, or otherwise they'll come to a climax too soon and spoil the—"

Helen stopped paying attention to Valencia's tone-deaf over-sharing of the details of her love life, grabbed a bottle of red wine, and poured herself a glass. She found in times of stress that few things compared to a drink to relaxing the nerves. Of course she had promised the queen she would cut back on the drinking, but some promises were made to be broken.

"Looks like I picked the wrong day to quit drinking," Helen wise-cracked.

"Oh all right," Valencia huffed, "be a killjoy."

Helen stretched her legs out on top of the desk while downing the wine in a single gulp.

"I am NOT a killjoy," Helen shot back, "and I don't need to know every single damn detail about your love life. Got it? If I wanted to be entertained, I would have locked you and Delphine in the same room."

If Valencia was the silver-eyed girl who gave everyone far more details than they could ever want, Delphine was her polar opposite. It might have been entertaining to place bets on the results of the experiment, except Helen was not so sure one of them wouldn't wind up strangling the other.

Helen gave Valencia a look that brooked no further interruptions, then asked, "Now then, was there any other reason you came in?"

"There was a bit of news," Valencia declared, shifting her voice towards a more serious tone, "about the village of Frontenac."

"The village of Frontenac," Helen mumbled, "oh, right. That's the place those bastards were shouting about when they tried to kill our Reine."

Valencia slipped a piece of paper before Helen and explained, "This just arrived for you from Major General Galacon a few minutes ago."

Valencia never ceased to amaze Helen. Give her one easy assignment, and she would inevitably sidetrack herself by talking about details few others were interested in hearing. It was a wonder she was a captain at all. That rank though probably had more to do with Valencia's fighting abilities than it did with her leadership abilities. It was just another case of Miria trusting a silver-eyed compatriot over a human for officer positions in the Royal Army. However this was done not without reason, in Helen's opinion.

Helen grabbed the paper and held it up in the light to read. She was about halfway down the page when her heart almost stopped.

"Non, non, non, this can't be happening," Helen spat out, too shocked to say much else.

Valencia evidently had not read the report, for she gaped, "What's the matter, General?"

Helen cast her legs off the desk and stood up, slamming a hand down upon Galk's report, "Galk says he found 316 bodies in the village of Frontenac, or what remains of it."

Valencia asked stupidly, "There were that many rebels there?"

Helen shouted, "Of course there weren't that many fucking rebels there. Colonel Champlain said he eradicated them. He didn't say anything about burning down the village and everyone in it. Galk said there were bodies of 46 children and 138 women burnt almost beyond recognition. Does that sound like fighting rebels to you?"

Valencia tried to explain away the inconsistency, "Colonel Champlain said in his report that the rebels set fire to the town to stave off his attack."

Helen scoffed, "Bullshit. They take refuge in a village to fight our boys off and then set their own buildings on fire? Captain Chambord?"

The door opened to reveal a young man who towered over Valencia and herself, though his boyish face made him much less intimidating. He wore half-plate armor, with everything below his waist unarmored, and was armed simply with a short sword. He had small eyes he appeared to squint out of and a jaw like an anvil, and he kept his curly black hair shoulder-length.

Chambord saluted, "Oui, General?"

"I want you to take this report and place it before the Reine," Helen instructed, "and request that Her Royal Majesty relieve Colonel Champlain of his position till we investigate what happened in Frontenac."

Chambord nodded, grabbed Galk's report, and walked out the door without another word.

Valencia arched an eyebrow, "Who is he?"

"My aide," Helen explained.

Valencia guffawed, "You have an aide?"

"Yes, and if there's nothing else—"

There was a loud knock on the door.

"General," Chambord's voice interrupted, "there's a Monsieur Comnenus who says he has an appointment to see you."

"I am no Monsieur. I am a Prince," another male voice interrupted.

Helen, drained, slumped back in her chair and waved, "Send him in."

The door opened to reveal a young man of modest proportions with a widow's peak, blue eyes, light brown hair, a clean-shaven face. He was dressed like a bit of a dandy, with fine black and white-striped pantaloons going along with knee-length, fine brown leather boots and a crimson silk vest. Unlike Chambord, this man did not salute and walked in with a confidence well beyond his years.

"General, I've finished the weapon prototypes you wanted," he informed Helen.

Helen blinked, "Alexander, I told you I wanted you to do a good job on this."

Alexander Comnenus scoffed, "I took no more or less time than was required to get the work done. You will find other men who take longer, but none will ever best me in quality. Must I remind you, General, that you are speaking to the rightful heir to the Comnenian—"

Helen cut him off, "You were told, after that stupid incident at the Romanow Embassy, to put a damn sock in this kind of talk, Alexander. Reine Miria has enough trouble right now, and she doesn't need you stirring up more with a silver-eyed empress."

Alexander growled, "She usurped my father's throne, cast down the other royal families, murdered their children, and you—"

"Alexander, your great-grandfather did the very same thing to her familial line," Helen pointed out, "so don't pretend the morality is so damn clear. Now let's go see those guns."

Helen had heard enough from Alexander and others to know that Alexander Comnenus was the last surviving son of the late King Lech II of the Kingdom of Comnenia. The Kingdom of Comnenia, as Alexander was loth to admit, had been the principal backer of the Organization in the Alliance of Nations. Around the time of the Organization's founding, Alexander's great-grandfather, King Stanislaus II, usurped the throne from his older brother, Augustyn IV, and then proceeded to murder him and all of his sons. Curiously, Stanislaus had allowed Augustyn's daughter, Augustyna, to survive. Two generations later, Augustyna's grand-daughter Katarzyna Romanowa, a silver-eyed female and the best general the world had seen in centuries, overthrew Alexander's father and established the Romanow Empire. Helen was sometimes amazed at how little history would have had to change to drastically alter the present day.

By the time they reached the outside courtyard of the Bastille, the sun's light was high in the sky. The courtyard was rimmed by a low, one-story high stone wall on all sides. It was paved entirely with cobblestones, with nary a tree to be found.

There was a small wooden table in the middle of the courtyard, upon which there were a trio of firearms. Alexander walked up ahead of Helen, while Valencia and a half score of armored soldiers followed behind. The day's light glinted off the metal on the weapons.

Alexander picked up the nearest firearm, a small gun barely as long as his forearm.

"This is a dual-barrel wheelock pistol with twin triggers," Alexander explained. "It's accurate up to 50 yards and can puncture light armor. Here, give it a shot against that mannequin over there, General."

Helen grabbed the gun, sighted along the barrel, and squeezed off a shot at a mannequin 50 years away that was backed up against a stone wall. Judging by the sudden spray of stone dust off the wall behind the mannequin, the shot had missed.

"Some accuracy," Helen growled.

Alexander shrugged, "If it had a longer barrel it would be a bit more accurate. This," Alexander said while holding a larger, long-barreled gun with a string dangling from it, "is a matchlock musket. This is for the average infantryman. Accurate in large volleys up to 100 yards, and able to penetrate even the heaviest plate armor. Simply hold the weapon like this, light the match, and press the trigger to fire."

Alexander hefted the weapon, lit the match string dangling from its hammer cock, poured a little gunpowder into the barrel, wound the hammer back, took aim at a mannequin covered in heavy plate mail armor, and fired. The front breastplate caved in with a terrific force, while at the same time something hit the stone wall behind the mannequin. The shot left the mannequin wobbling on its wooden pole as well as a large hole in the middle of its chest plate.

"These weapons are going to change the way of war," Alexander declared. "It takes years to train good longbowmen. I can train your men to use one of these effectively in just six weeks, they'll have six times the punch of any longbow against armor, and they're cheaper, easier and faster to build. I offer you 500 of my muskets to equip your men for 500 Francs."

"I'll take two thousand for 1,500 Francs," Helen countered. "But I want them delivered within three months."

Alexander gaped, "Two thousand in three months at that rate?"

"Lieutenant Chretien, give me that musket that Monsieur Renault made for us," Helen commanded.

Helen took aim at the mannequin with the modestly smaller musket from Renault, lit the trigger match, and fired. The effect was very nearly the same, for the shot caved in the portion of armor around the mannequin's "waist" and kept on going till the stone wall. The smell of gunpowder was strong in the air after she'd stopped firing.

Alexander frowned, "It's not as potent as mine," he complained, "just look at the hole in the armor."

Helen laughed, "No, but it would have killed the man just the same. There's probably going to be some nasty fighting soon, Alexander. You have my offer. If you refuse it, I'll simply give the entire contract to Monsieur Renault's company."

Alexander simmered in indignation, "I'm barely going to make ten cents on each musket at those prices."

Helen didn't budge, "10 cents over 2,000 muskets is plenty of money."

Alexander sighed, "Fine, I'll take it. Captain Valencia, please go easy on the gunpowder."

Valencia had picked up the musket Alexander had made and was busy pouring a rather generous amount of gunpowder into its barrel.

"Don't you know, guns are a girls' best friend," Valencia quipped cheerfully. "You don't have to worry, Monsieur Comnenus."

Alexander tried to object, "Yes, but—"

"More gunpowder equals more punch," Valencia countered.

She took aim at the mannequin, wound the hammer back, smiling the whole time, and pressed the trigger.

Helen didn't remember what happened next, for the next thing she remembered was being awoken by some smelling salts under her nose.

"Merde," Helen cursed, "I have a terrible headache. What the hell happened?"

Helen got off the courtyard's cobblestones thanks to a hand from young Lieutenant Chretien, and rose to find Valencia rubbing her head. Valencia had several tiny shards of metal and wood embedded in her scalp, which were already starting to bleed. The gun was at her feet and had nearly been severed in two. Several sizable chunks of it lay around, and its wreckage lay smoldering, the stench of burnt gunpowder strong in the air.

"You fricking idiot, Valencia," Helen snapped, "he was trying to tell you to not blow the fucking gun up. Chretien, go take her to a doctor and get her stitched up."

Chretien, looking concerned, asked, "Are you sure you're alright, General?"

"I'm fine," Helen assured him after not finding any blood on her, "now get going."

Valencia hobbled off, nursing her self-inflicted minor injuries, with Chretien and another soldier holding her up.

"I'll pay for it," Helen told Alexander. "Damn idiot will owe me a favor. Now then, where's the pistol you promised me?"

Alexander rubbed his head a moment before walking over to grab a pistol similar to the one he had demonstrated earlier.

"This pistol," Alexander stated with a touch of pride, "is my best work so far. But it only takes hexagonal bullets."

Helen picked up one of those bullets and asked, "And why is that?"

Alexander pointed to the tip of the barrel, which showed the hexagon shape.

"It has grooves within to spin the bullet for greater accuracy," Alexander explained.

He tossed an apple off the table into the air. Within that very second, he picked up the pistol, took aim, and just as the apple hit the top of its arc, he squeezed off a shot, sending bits of apple flying. The apple landed at Helen's feet with a gaping hole in it.

She didn't even hesitate, "I'll take two."

* * *

"Sa Majesté will be with you in just a few minutes," the maidservant told Raki.

He had been summoned by the Roi in the morning after the attack to come to the Palais Malaga. He had left Claire to nurse her wounds and fend off Teresa's intense curiosity at the bandages and stitches upon her mother's forehead. Victor in contrast had turned plunged into taking care of his mother with a surprising energy. The baby, Dominique, remained oblivious to it all, having now been freed to crawl all over the embassy. Raki left them safe and sound, or so he hoped, back at the Romanow Embassy. Quite how Cid had known where to find him there Raki had no idea. It was a puzzle he would have to ponder while he waited.

The Romanows still hadn't identified the attacker, though Andrei Tuluzy sounded convinced that one attacker had to have been a silver-eyed warrior. It was an alarming bit of news, particularly given no one, not even Galatea, had noticed anything awry recently. According to Andrei, the one male attacker who'd nearly killed Claire had escaped unharmed. His companion had left with a grievous wound to the belly. Despite this, no one had yet found a body anywhere. Given this, Raki would have bet his fortune that the individual was not a human. No human could survive the wound Andrei described inflicting upon the covert warrior.

Raki watched the green-clad maidservant walk off, then took a seat on a plush velvet bench. He took a look around all the while admiring the sumptuous hallway he was in. It was located on the top floor of the Palais Malaga, which was 'only' six stories tall at the most. In truth though its height was greater, for each floor was easily half again taller than that of a typical house's. The upper floor was taller and grander still, filled with countless tapestries, innumerable devotional religious paintings, fine carpets, mosaics and frescoes, all of it well lit by huge arched windows and oil lamps. Raki shuddered to think at the cost of it all.

"And to think she's building another palace even grander than this one," Raki sighed in amazement.  
"It's enough to make you sick," a female voice interrupted.

Raki nearly jumped in surprise. He turned to find a woman dressed in a simple white robe topped with a grand red hat walking up. Her eyes were milky white, and falling from beneath her amazingly clean hat was long, straight blond hair.

Raki stood up and greeted her, "Archbishop Galatea, what an unexpected surprise."

"As it is for me," Galatea replied with a smile. "I must agree with your amazement of the waste on display."

Galatea reached out and touched the exterior glass of a nearby oil lamp, "Just think, for the same cost of this lamp, I could feed five orphan children for two weeks. We have children begging for food in the streets of Rabona, orphaned by the wars, yet our monarch frivolously throws her money away on luxury that benefits no one but luxury goods makers. If you gave me but an eighth of the monarchy's money, I could establish a fund that would ensure no child in Rabona would ever go hungry. Yet when I suggest this to Roi Cid, he has the indecency to accuse me, as head of the Rabona Orthodox Church, of trying to enrich the clergy."

Raki agreed, "I can sympathize with your endeavors to feed the poor. They need a champion here in Rabona."

"Of course," Galatea agreed, putting a hand upon his right shoulder. "I have not forgotten how you tried to bless me all those years ago."

Galatea was referring to the time shortly before his relationship with Claire had gone to the next level, when, in Claire's absence, they'd become involved in a torrid affair.

Raki stiffened in acute discomfort, "Galatea, I am a married man."

Galatea didn't even waver, "You now as well as I that I should have been your first wife. Do you not know?"

Raki frowned, "Know what?"

Galatea looked at him with a face full of hurt and longing, "I was carrying a child for you when you left."

Raki felt like his stomach had just been punched.

"What?!"

"I didn't realize it until the week after you left… with Claire," Galatea explained, pausing dramatically before sounding almost disgusted pronouncing Claire's name.

Raki gaped, "Did you carry…"

Galatea leaned in close and sighed, "I miscarried not long afterwards."

Raki didn't know whether to be relieved or horrified.

"I'm sorry," was all he could think to say.

Galatea wrapped her arms around his neck, "Tell me, dear, was she really that much better than I was to make you forget me?"

"I didn't forget," Raki soothed.

He knew exactly what Galatea meant, and though he would never dare utter his opinion aloud, he was inclined to give Galatea the edge in intimate situations.

"I can only hope she is being a model mother for your children," Galatea provocatively stated.

The unfortunate truth was that mothering was not Claire's forte. She was superb with fighting and a good companion, but she had little patience for children's antics. Teresa in particular seemed to be difficult for Claire to control, and this had led to a few unfortunate outbursts of anger and yelling at the girl. In fact, the first time he and Claire had had a real fight was over Claire's response to Teresa racing her brother around the block. Raki had a sinking feeling that Galatea knew all about Claire's mothering issues from her gossipy claymore comrades.

"You know I would have done a good job of mothering," Galatea noted.

"I'm sure you could," Raki agreed to move the conversation on.

Galatea offered, "Should you ever change your mind, all you have to do is ask and I am yours. I would gladly give up my position and become a Priestess of the Poor so I could be your second wife. I know it would not be easy for you, but we both know we were meant for each other. I would cherish nothing more than having your children."

Raki found himself fighting an uncontrollable surge of blood to his nether regions as Galatea spoke and her white-gloved descended onto his upper arm.

Galatea continued with her silky, confident voice, "Claire may believe we were only together a single moment, but both of us know the truth. Remember, Raki, our Heavenly Father teaches us that one wife is a blessing. But with two he is twice as likely to enter heaven as with one. Should you ever accept the one true God, I'll be waiting for you."

Galatea left him with an appreciative pat on the arm and kept walking down the hallway without so much as a glance back. A part of him wanted to pretend he had no idea what she looked like underneath her robes. Another part of him wanted nothing more than to see Galatea with her clothes off again.

"I see she still manages to get you worked up," a man's voice interjected from right behind him.

Raki was so startled he practically jumped before turning around to find a laughing Cid Malaga.

"I'm sorry, Raki, but you do owe me one for kicking me in the balls all those years ago," Cid smiled, wiping away a tear of laughter. "Apologies again, but it is good to see you again, my friend."

"Scared me half out of my wits… Votre Majesté," Raki added hastily.

Cid certainly looked the part of a royal. He wore a large gold necklace so wide it was draped over his shoulders. He wore no hat, but his brown-blond hair was immaculately shampooed, his face perfectly shaved, and his clothes utterly without wrinkles or dirt. He wore black and white vest, which had large puffy shoulders, and his arms were tightly covered by white-and-black-striped sleeves. His pants were a silk white, which were neatly folded into his calf-high brown leather boots. Cid wore no jewelry save a marriage band on his left hand and an m-shaped signet ring on the right. He was not great of stature, but he was the same height as his wife, and the Reine was taller than the average man of the era.

"You know your wife is going to eventually find out that you and Galatea wasn't just that one drunken time in the church confession crate," Cid confided quietly. "Come Raki; in times of stress I find wine is the best cure."

Cid led him forward to a nearby room, which was enormous. It looked out west onto the Toulouse River and Rabona's new citadel through a quartet of tall, arched windows. Dominating the room was a great wooden desk with plenty of quills and parchment upon it. A billiards table sat at the opposite end of the room near the windows. A plethora of fine wooden chairs covered with red velvet cushions embroidered with the name "Malaga" in gold sat before the desk. A low half wall separated them from the game side of the room, which Raki noticed also contained a dart board upon one wall.

The Roi reached into the desk as Raki stood before it, and moments later pulled out a fine red wine. Cid poured himself a full glass and then another for Raki.

"Here you go," Cid smiled. "Now have a seat and let's have a little chat."

"About?"

Cid motioned to the chairs before the desk, so Raki selected one and sat down. It proved just as comfortable as it looked.

Cid took a swig of his wine before sitting down, "You know, they can all tell if they've got your interest, Raki."

Raki took a swig of his wine before asking, "What do you mean?"

Cid flashed him a devious smile, "My wife informs me that she can tell from a silver-eyed man's yoki alone whether he's aroused or not."

Raki thought back to his encounter with Miata and Claire's incredible agitation afterwards. Aside from several glances down Miata's enticing cleavage, he had done his utmost to behave properly. At the time he had been relieved to be wearing a codpiece, as his manhood had risen uncontrollably in reaction to Miata's incredible looks. He'd thought nothing of it at the time and tried to walk it off, but if Claire had detected his arousal via her yoki sensing…

Raki put his head into his hands, "Oh hell. No wonder Claire was so pissed off."

"In fairness to you, Raki, even I am truly thankful my clothes all feature codpieces when Miata's walking by," Cid confided. "Unluckily for you, you are silver-eyed and I am not. So whatever possessed you to get involved with Galatea all those years ago?"

Raki looked up and sighed, "I didn't mean to at all. Claire had me get hybridized right after the Organization fell, we made love a few times, and then suddenly she had to leave for an Awakened hunt. I told her I'd wait for her. But I was stuck here in Rabona with nothing to do."

"Ah yes, now I remember," the Roi nodded. "You volunteered to help at the orphanage."

"I should not have done it," Raki grumbled. "The first week there I found I enjoyed working with sister Galatea, so I began staying longer and longer working alongside her and the children. Then I stayed afterwards just to talk, and even allowed her to show me the nuns' chambers. The day after that she showed up at my door so we could talk on the way to the cathedral. Every day after that I just got more and more enamored with her."

"I can imagine," Cid sympathized. "She may piss me off a few times, but Galatea can lay on the charm when she wants to."

Raki shrugged, "Well she was only charming with me. It got to the point when I began wondering whether I was really meant for Claire. After a week of walking back to see me off, she kissed me goodbye. The next day she kissed me on the cheek, the day after it was on the lips. The next day we kissed I had my hands on her ass. And the day after that was when Galatea walked back with me and told me she wished to stay for dinner."

"Ah yes, the infamous dinner scheme," Cid commented.

"Nothing happened during dinner actually," Raki corrected, "But after I finished cleaning all the pots, I found her lying atop my bed without any clothes on. She told me God had told her we were meant to be together as man and woman. I want to say I resisted it. The truth is, Votre Majesté, is that I didn't even try to resist. I was in love, or at least in lust. So I did the manly thing and ploughed her fields that night, and every night for four months after that until Claire returned."

Cid frowned, "You sure got yourself in quite the moral predicament, Raki."

Raki put his hands on his head, "I left her for Claire, and now she tells me she was carrying a child for me. I feel like an ass."

"Miscarried though," Cid commented before sipping his wine.

"You knew?!"

Cid threw up his hands, "Raki, almost everybody in the claymore community knew about you, Galatea, and even the miscarriage. I would have told you but my wife thought you knew."

Raki could only shake his head and laugh at himself, "Well that's just great. Now Galatea is talking about leaving the church if I'll take her as a second wife. She said I have to accept her religion though."

Cid reached over and clasped Raki's hand, "You have a new life now, Raki, with three children who my wife informs me are the most adorable things. It's best to make the best of what you have rather than what might have been. If you take on Galatea as another wife, you'll never hear the end of those two fighting. You're not the first man to accidentally find himself in a love triangle. Miria and I were getting along fabulously after the Organization fell, then the day before I was going to ask for her hand, she up and left to go on a hunt."

Cid took gulped down his entire glass of wine before continuing, "After six months of waiting for Miria, I was about ready to explode. So I went out to a tavern and found myself a girl named Giselle, we both got drunk, shagged, and then I found out she belonged to the von Staufen noble family. Rather awkward, that. I wound up formally courting her and informally shagging her on the side. I asked her father's permission to marry her the day after Miria and her comrades came back to Rabona. Then for whatever reason I decided to tell Miria it was over between us. She wouldn't accept that it was, put on her best moves, and we wound up shagging right then and there. Miria then casually went to the von Staufen manor the next day and told them the engagement was off because I was going to be marrying her instead, because Giselle wasn't worthy of me. That was not wife's best moment, but it worked."

"Merde," Raki cursed, scarcely believing his ears.

Cid threw up his hands, "When I went to see Giselle that week, she threw wine on me and told me to get out of her house. Said I would never be able to have a true marriage with Miria because we would never be able to have children. Damn bitch was right about that."

Raki queried, "Does she have children?"

Cid flashed him an arched eyebrow and a smirk, "She got an arranged marriage with another nobleman and had triplets during her first pregnancy. She rubbed it in by hand-delivering the baby announcements. Still, she never could have hoped to compare to my wife. She's the most beautiful and smartest woman in all the land, and not even Miata has finer tits. Speaking of wives, I have an offer for your wife that I think would interest you."

Raki nearly choked while sipping on his wine, hacking and coughing as it spilled down the wrong pipe. Cid had a way with words that could sometimes shock.

Cid got up and quickly came over to give him a smack on the back, which finally ended the hacking fit.

"Better?"

Raki nodded, breathing hard, "Better."

Cid placed a sheet before him that looked like a contract. Raki began reading it as he set down his wine glass, the light of the office's numerous lamps making the task easier.

Cid walked back to his seat, sat down and "You said your wife craved something more than the domestic life, and as it happens, we can give it to her. Two crazed gunmen tried to kill my wife at her coronation. If something were to happen to my darling Miria I don't like to think how Renée would manage the kingdom. To forestall that day, we'd like to make Claire the Deputy Commander of the Garde Royale."

Renée, the Organization's records had revealed, was Miria's first cousin on her father's side, which to Raki made sense. Both of them shared a similar physique and were great runners. Given Parlement had given the throne to Miria and her heirs in perpetuity, that meant that Renée was first-in-line to the throne at present, which evidently didn't inspire confidence in Cid.

Raki gaped at the salary, "5,000 Francs?"

"There are other benefits of course," the Roi stated, as if 5,000 Francs were not enough. "You were concerned for your family's safety, so we have secured a spare guest apartment here in the Palais Malaga for your family. There would be a tutor for the children, a governess for your household so Claire could do her work, and I'm sure you could manage to hire a wet nurse for Dominique on Claire's salary. All we require is your signature."

Raki, flummoxed, stammered, "My signature?"

"Yes, the law is very clear on this, Raki," Cid explained, "if a woman is married, by our laws it is up to her husband as to whether she is allowed to work."

The Roi took a quill, dipped it in an inkpot, and held it out for him to take.

Cid coaxed him, "You said your wife was bored, so what better fit than as an officer in the Garde Royale?"

"I suppose," Raki agreed, not entirely happy that this would excuse Claire from doing a great deal of parenting.

He leaned over the contract, hesitated a moment, and then signed on behalf of his wife. He hoped Claire would be happy with his decision, though he wasn't that fearful she would be upset with this development. She'd been craving some "action" of the violent variety ever since they married.

Raki got up to leave, briefly nodding to the Roi, "If that is all I'll be—"

Cid gave him a smile, "I'm sorry, but there is one last item that requires your attention. As you know, the response of the elected government to the attempt on my wife's life left a great deal to be desired. It has come to my attention that the army is once again treating the leaders of our elected government badly. You know better than anyone we cannot afford that kind of misbehavior again. I've prepared a bill that would remedy the problem by unifying monarchy with Parlement."

Raki read the bill intently.

"This is very impressively written," Raki complimented. "A permanent civil service overseen by members of a new body called the Conseil de la Reine. The military's operations will be overseen by a member of Parlement? It's ambitious."

Cid frowned, "But?"

Raki sighed, "I am not sure—"

He cut off, as a door creaked open in the Roi's grand office. Emerging through the doorway was a beautiful silver-eyed woman in an ornate blue and gold-embroidered nightgown. She carried her right arm in a sling, and her hair was perfectly curled as it draped down the sides of her face in long bangs. An exquisitely detailed hairbun pinned with a diamond hairpin gave her an especially regal appearance, as did the grapefruit-sized green emerald dangling from a simple gold necklace.

Raki immediately stood, "Reine Miria, it is a pleasure to see you again."

The custom had developed already for everyone to immediately stand when the Reine entered a room. He could not say who had started it, but no one dared do otherwise now.

"Monsieur de Lautrec, what an unexpected pleasure," Miria replied cordially. "Now what is it that you two are up to?"

Miria increasingly was referring to people in the formal, and Raki couldn't say he blamed her. People expected their Reine to be a serious, dignified leader, and Miria fit the mold perfectly. Claire had always said that Miria was one to take her duties very seriously, including in how she carried herself. Even the way Miria walked towards them had a regal air to it.

Cid held out the bill to his wife, who gently took it in one hand and read it while pacing back and forth for a half minute.

Miria gave her husband a look, "I don't recall signing off on you showing this to our dear friend. Did I not tell you this was a step too far, dear?"

Cid nodded gravely, "I'm sorry, dear, it's just you were hurt and I wanted to make sure things kept progressing while you rested."

Miria sighed, "You must forgive my husband, Raki. His heart is in the right place, but sometimes he pushes too far. May I have a quill pen?"

The Reine sat down in a chair besides her husband. Raki noticed that as nightgowns went, Miria's was relatively racy. The front was cut in a deep 'v' pattern, showcasing Miria's always spectacular cleavage. This was further emphasized by her necklace, with the grapefruit-sized emerald nestled inside her cleavage. Her nightgown even showed the modest bumps of her nipples; it was enough to make his manhood begin to rise.

'Merde,' Raki cursed inwardly. 'She's going to notice if I can't keep myself down. Come on, Raki, you're a man. You can keep it down. You are not going to be like some kind of common pervert. Just think of the least stimulating thing.'

Miria meanwhile was talking, "Well, I think we can salvage this however."

"Of course," Raki agreed, failing terribly in his efforts to think of something that could repress his libido. The first thing that had come to mind was Miata, which was the complete opposite of what he needed.

"All men on the Conseil should be elected members of Parlement, don't you think, Monsieur de Lautrec?"

"I concur," Raki said, barely putting a thought into his reply.

The Reine began furiously scribbling now, blotting out certain parts and writing in amending statements very quickly.

'Come on Raki, the least titillating thing. What's the least arousing thing you know?'

Miria politely queried, "And how is your daughter doing? She was a great delight to have around the last time we saw her."

Suddenly an image of Teresa belching at the dinner table came to mind, and for once his efforts worked. He managed to look away from the temptation and into the Reine's face, and his manhood finally wilted.

"As energetic and talkative as ever," Raki stated with a smile, feeling relieved.

"You must bring her and her brother by some time," Miria warmly replied. "Cid and I have been trying very hard for a child just like her."

"Indeed," was all Raki could manage.

Miria looked back to the bill, "Well then, we would want the government in power to represent the majority in Parlement, non?"

Raki merely nodded.

Miria commented while editing, "The leader of that government would be appointed at the discretion of the monarch naturally. I would select them only after consulting Parlement of course. I hope this sounds most agreeable to you, Monsieur de Lautrec."

"You are most gracious, Ma Reine," Raki complimented.

"I think those are enough changes to satisfy the members of Parlement," Miria commented while blowing the ink dry. "It would put my mind at ease if you would present this to Parlement on my behalf. We cannot afford to have the army and the civil servants not under the same line of command."

"I would be honored to, Ma Reine," Raki replied, taking the bill from Miria's hand.

* * *

The door clicked shut, and Miria let out a satisfied sigh, "You see dear, a little coaxing, and you can get a man to do almost anything on your behalf."

Raki had just left the office, and Miria could see ships passing by through the windows of Cid's personal office. She'd had it renovated as a birthday gift to her husband. It was larger than most homes in Rabona, which Cid had complained left it feeling too open. She had shrugged it off, since Cid was not always possible to please.

Cid gave her a disapproving look, "Did you have to wear that nightgown? The poor man was struggling the whole time not to glance down."

Miria favored her husband with a raised eyebrow, "It would seem foolhardy for the woman with the finest tits in all the land to not use them to her advantage."

Cid blushed, "You weren't supposed to hear that part."

Miria took off the sling, which had merely been for show, and threw it into her husband's arms. Cid caught it and placed it down upon the office's grand desk.

"I suppose I should be thankful that was the only part that you improvised," Miria commented dryly.

Cid let out a deep breath of relief, "Do we have to put on this act?"

Miria tapped a blank parchment, "Politics is like a form of theatre, dear. Raki was so distracted he agreed to every one of our proposals with scarcely a second thought. He'll be an excellent advocate for our cause. Besides, what is the point of being monarch if I cannot even convene a meeting of the executives leading my government? If rebellion breaks out in Lautrec thanks to this foolish Colonel, I wouldn't even be able to coordinate the army's actions with the Minister of Laws. We both agreed something had to change."

Cid, looking suspicious, asked, "Have you been taking your medicine?"

An apparition appeared next to Cid in Miria's vision of the long-dead warrior, Ophelia. Miria knew the apparition was nothing more than a figment of her mind, but its appearance was slightly disconcerting nonetheless.

The image of Ophelia put an arm on Cid's shoulder and with one hand made a shushing motion.

"It wouldn't do for him to find out you've only been taking half of your medicine," the apparition said with an evil smile. "You would have been unable to think clearly with any more than that. And you know as well as I do how much you need me, Miria."

She'd been on the medicine to stop the apparitions in her head driving her nuts, but the medicine had rendered her barely able to think for several hours. With the dose dropped by half that side effect had ended, but unfortunately the apparitions had come back as well.

"Of course," Miria stated, leaving out that she'd only been taking half doses. "Why would you ask such a thing?!"

Cid, defensive, argued, "Well, it just doesn't seem like something you ordinarily do."

The visage of Ophelia smirked, "Why should you wish to remain a fool?"

Miria had had enough, "I am not a fool!"

Cid backed off, "I wasn't saying you were when you take your medicine."

'Keep it together, Miria,' she thought to herself, 'you can't go responding to that damn voice inside your head outside of it.'

"I'm sorry," Miria apologized.

"It's fine, dear," Cid assured while crossing his arms, "But I say we should have pressed Raki for more."

The apparition of Ophelia seemed to have vanished as suddenly as it had come.

"Everyone has a limit, dear," Miria pointed out. "Raki will win his bloc of supporters over to the proposal. The key will be getting members of Ruud van Willems' partisans on our side. To do that, we have to make our proposal seem reasonable."

"We shouldn't even have to rely on any partisans," Cid grumbled. "Politics is too important to be left to a bunch of squabbling, provincial, corrupt politicians. We should have just told them we were going to fund the entire government. Then we wouldn't have needed them around to squabble over taxes and what they're spent on."

Miria sighed and lovingly wrapped her arms around her husband's neck, "Cid, you know we can't risk that. People like to feel like they're consulted, even if it's through an elected representative. If we funded the whole government ourselves, pretty soon we'd be forced to use our wealth to keep people happy, and then we'd be little better than those corrupt politicians you so despise."

"You'd still be better than all of them put together," Cid countered.

Miria gave him an appreciative kiss that she didn't end until she felt Cid gasp for breath.

"Now that," Miria smiled, looking him in the eyes, "is exactly why I married you. Just trust me on this, dear. Let the politicians take the blame for things going wrong. Let me handle holding the country together."

Cid leaned in until his forehead touched hers, "If you say so, dear. You know full well though that a whole bunch of them would have been fine with Claire and Raki's children being held hostage."

Miria sighed, "When I found out you went out and needlessly risked your life in a swordfight against five other men to rescue them, I wanted to beat you senseless. All you had to do was tell me you needed some men to help rescue Teresa and Victor, and I would have given you some. Instead you went gallivanting off like some hero, needlessly getting yourself into a life-and-death situation. I didn't know whether or not to browbeat you for it or to praise you for saving the children."

"I'll take the praise," Cid quipped.

"Yes, you would," Miria agreed, letting out a small chuckle.

Miria and Cid embraced so closely that she was looking over his right shoulder.

Cid got back to business, "We still need to keep the investigation going into the men who tried to kill you, Miria."

"I'm letting Ruud van Willems handle that," Miria assured him.

There were times, Miria found, when Cid didn't seem to get the art of politics as much as she did. His natural inclinations were always to entrust her with even more authority. She didn't mind his great trust in her, but he was always pushing the political boundaries on her behalf. Sometimes she had to rein him in to accomplish things.

Miria informed her husband, "While you and Raki were having your heart-to-heart chat, our spymaster brought some news. Violetta Angevin has sailed from Haaraleen. We may be at war soon if she comes here."

"She doesn't have enough men," Cid pointed out. "No more than ten thousand."

"Enough to cause chaos and take advantage of any unrest in the western lands," Miria reminded her husband. "We could undercut her aims if we had an heir."

"For the thousandth time, I am not getting the damn operation, Miria," Cid snapped.

Miria threw out her arms in exasperation, "An heir would solve so many of our problems, Cid. How are we supposed to do our duty for the realm, Cid, if we never have children?"

For once, the fight appeared to leave Cid, "Miria, look, I'm not in the mood to fight this out again. Someone tried to kill you yesterday, there was a massacre of innocents by our forces, and I'm supposed to be celebrating my 34th birthday tomorrow. Wait, what are you doing?"

Miria had walked around behind Cid and grabbed a chair.

"Relieving your stress," Miria explained, "now sit."

Miria pushed her not-entirely-cooperative husband into the chair, and a second later began giving him a head scratch. Cid for his part was soon humming in contentment.

Cid murmured happily, "A little to the left."

Miria moved her fingers over and scratched vigorously.

"Oh yeah, keep going," Cid happily murmured at her efforts.

Miria smirked at Cid's utter predictability. He could be mad at her one minute, but give him a good head scratch for a half minute, and he was purring like a cat. Perhaps because the mood was right, Miria began to sandwich the back of Cid's head between her large breasts.

"Oh you naughty, naughty girl," Cid commented.

He reached back with a hand, gently grabbed her head, and brought her down until they shared a kiss, and then another. Soon enough she was in his lap, with both of them putting their hands all over one another.

Cid was undoing the buttons on her nightgown when Miria stopped him with a hand.

"Just a second," Miria told him while getting up, "I wanted to show you something for your 34th birthday."

Cid agreed, "Oh, alright. I don't know how it could be any better than your tits."

Miria unbuttoned her nightgown, and then let it fall to the floor. She then used her Yoma energy in two intense, creative bursts on her back. Miria knew she'd pulled it off when her muscles contracted and there was a sudden gust.

Cid's mouth had opened but words failed to come out.

Miria gave a flap of the white-feathered wings, each stretching out twice as far as she was tall. She spun around to give Cid a better look.

Cid gasped, "How in the world did you?"

"I used Yoma energy to create them," Miria explained. "It took quite a bit of practice, but you always said I was your angel. Care to help your angel lose her wings?"

* * *

"That's the first of them," a man's voice declared, sounding out of breath.

Helen turned to find her young aide-de-camp, Captain Chambord huffing as he and the claymore Alexandra set down a six foot long wooden crate. They had laid it down in the center of a small river barge. They were all dressed in military attire, which looked odd on Alexandra in Helen's opinion. But perhaps that was because Helen had become more used to Alexandra being in dresses while babysitting Claire and Raki's children.

"Alright then," Helen stated as she looked out over Rabona's skyline, "we just have one more crate of documents to move."

Helen glanced over to see the remaining crate still in the back of the wagon they had used to carry the crate from its origin. They were on the eastern banks of the Toulouse River in northern Rabona, well away from the city's more populous and crowded districts. Which was fine by Helen given she didn't want many to observe what she was doing.

The dusk light was hitting the skyline as Helen glanced south along the busy waterway. Numerous stone bridges crossed over the wide, slow-moving, shallow Toulouse River. It was only further south that it got deeper, and thus where the ocean-going merchant ships docked. She could just make out the tops of several of them even at this great distance.

A young man's voice yelled out, "General Habsburg?!"

"Oh what the hell," Helen snapped.

A young, curly dark-haired man dressed in elegant, Holy Day best attire was striding towards them.

"Get the next one," Helen commanded Alexandra and her aide.

"Oui, General," they both sighed.

The young man, not 30 paces away, yelled out again, "General Habsburg?!"

"I heard you the first time, Monsieur Languedoc," Helen yelled back.

Helen jumped off the barge and clambered up the dock's stone steps to greet the young man in person. Monsieur Languedoc stopped short and began to look less sure of himself, no doubt, Helen thought, because she was wearing armor. He was almost alone, as the surrounding area consisted of decrepit, barely occupied blockhouses lined up against a stone street. The street in turn ended at the embankment leading down to the Toulouse River's barge docks.

She got a good look at the newcomer as he approached. The young man topped her in height by half a head, but he was not particularly muscular or intimdating. His clothes were colored sharply contrast blacks and whites, though he did wear some fine calf-length brown leather boots. He looked to be a man of above average prosperity.

Helen eyed him warily, "It's Pierre, isn't it?"

He nodded, "I came here to see you about—"

"About the Princesse Natalie," Helen interjected. "Pierre, I honestly don't know what you want me to say. You and the Princesse are going around behind our Reine's back and—"

Pierre blurted out, "I am not trying to go behind anyone's back. I told Natalie it would be best to gain her mother's approval of my courting of her. She told me I was out of my mind to even try. That's why I'm here. I wanted your advice on the best way to gain the Reine's approval of my courting her daughter."

Helen blinked in disbelief, "You want my advice on how to get the Reine's approval?"

"Well of course," Pierre replied, sounding like this was obvious. "Who could give better advice than Natalie's godmother and the Reine's long-time friend?"

Helen noticed that both Alexandra and Chambord had stopped to listen as they stood lifting the second crate off the ground.

"Keep working, you two," Helen loudly reminded them.

Helen led Pierre a little ways off so they could speak out of earshot.

Helen placed a hand on Pierre's shoulder and bluntly asked, "Have you slept with her?"

Pierre blinked, "What? Non, of course not. Well I mean Natalie has really been pressuring me to do it, but I swore to the High Father Above that I would not partake in such things before I was married. Princesse Natalie is not very happy about that."

"I can imagine," Helen remarked. "Fine, you pass my lie test, Pierre. Second question: do you possess any wealth?"

Pierre jumped into his advocacy, "My uncle has named me the deputy head of our blacksmith and metalworking company. I'm on track to save enough to build my own branch of the company next year. Once I own that shop it should return back what I paid to create it in just three or four years."

Helen sighed, impressed though she was by Pierre's efforts to become more respectable.

"And how much wealth do you currently possess?"

Pierre shrugged, "Just a little more than 500 Francs."

"500 Francs," Helen repeated. "Your paramour's coronation day dress cost more than that all by itself."

"I thought the Reine cared about more than a man's wealth," Pierre butted back. "She did, after all, marry for love."

Helen folded her arms, "She does care about more than wealth, Monsieur Languedoc. She might have allowed you to court her daughter too, even given your limited means, were she not a royal."

"Natalie didn't used to be a Princesse," Pierre pointed out.

"And her mother didn't used to care about having a child either," Helen bit back. "It's not that fucking simple, Pierre. Reine Miria, as long as I can remember, has cared about hierarchy and doing her duty. She expects people to do their duties as well, she expects them to respect hierarchy, and she expects both from members of her family."

Pierre looked confused, "How does duty have anything to do with this?"

Helen snapped, "What the hell do you think the duty of a Princesse is? She's supposed to bring honor to her family and to further her family and the kingdom's power through marriage. You can't do that, Pierre. You're neither a wealthy, local lord like Raul Tierra nor a powerful foreign prince who can help us militarily."

Pierre looked crushed, "Is there no way?"

Helen felt a bit of guilt creeping in as she realized how devastated the boy must have been by her declaration. He might have been a bit rash, but he was still trying to do things properly. Had it been up to Natalie, things might have gotten far more serious by now.

Helen breathed deeply and told Pierre, "Look, I appreciate that you're trying to do things the proper way, Pierre. How much would it take for you to have your own blacksmith shop?"

Pierre, affronted, bit back, "I don't need that kind of charity."

Helen frowned as she noticed her subordinates looking over with some curiosity.

Helen turned her back on them and asked Pierre quietly, "You said you'd nearly saved enough to own your own place, non? I'll loan you whatever you need. You'll be the owner of the establishment so long as you pay me back."

Pierre tried to object, "But—"

Helen wagged a finger at him, "Say another word and I'll tell your belle dame you came to see me. Oh fucking hell, here comes that crowd of homeless children again."

A rush of a dozen kids in tattered clothes was running in their direction along the cobblestone road facing the river. They were shouting and looking quite happy to see her. None of them could have been any older than ten.

"Best be off, Pierre," Helen snapped, giving the young man a push.

He reluctantly walked off just in time, as the children came right up to her moments later. The crowd of scrawny children was dressed in raggedy clothes and no shoes, their hair unkempt and their faces dirty. There looked to be a dozen or more of them by Helen's estimation, and they soon had her surrounded. The pleading began almost immediately.

"Can we have some money?"

"Please, General?"

"We're hungry!"

"Alright, alright," Helen harrumphed. "What does Galatea do, not feed you?"

A young boy object, "She's the Archbishop!"

Helen had long disliked Galatea naming herself the Archbishop of the Rabona Orthodox Church. Aside from being self-serving, the position was one meant for men. The only reason why Galatea was Archbishop as far as Helen could tell was because all of the experienced male priests had foolishly joined the ill-fated Inquisition.

Helen muttered, "Yes, yes, now here you go. I don't want to see you begging me again till next week."

The children lined up to each receive a small number of gold coins from her, which Helen deposited into their waiting hands. They nodded, said their thanks, and then waited for their friends.

Helen reminded them just as the last child, a girl no more than ten years old, came up to receive her share, "If I hear about any of you stealing one of the other's money, you will not get any more. Is that clear enough?"

The children answered together, "Oui, General."

"Now go off and play," Helen instructed them.

This the children did almost immediately, running off with exuberance as they played a game of tag. Helen watched with some relief as they rounded the corner, and noticed that Pierre had also disappeared since she'd talked to the children.

Alexandra came up alongside and commented, "You don't like children, do you, General?"

"They're a damn pain to take care of," Helen remarked. "I don't know how Claire and Audrey manage."

Alexandra frowned, "Nonsense, General. You just need to have a little patience. It's very generous of you to help those children though. They were all orphaned by the big blaze that started during the Angevins' coup attempt. I can't imagine how hard that must have been for them to lose their parents that way."

Helen thought, 'As opposed to losing your parents to a Yoma attack, Alexandra?'

Helen, annoyed, interjected, "Is everything loaded?"

Captain Chambord walked up, declaring, "Everything's aboard, General."

"Let's move," Helen snapped, pointing to the docked barge.

Helen minded the barge's tiller while Alexandra and Chambord took their places by the oars. They flung the ropes holding the barge to the dock off and set off at a slow pace. The views were tremendous, with the setting sun lighting up the brick and stone façade of the Palais Malaga on the eastern bank. It glowed an ethereal orange-red as they passed, their barge shrouded from view by the deep shadows close to the river's western bank. By the time they passed under the last bridge, night had fallen upon the city.

Helen steered for a small dock just north of Rabona's southern city walls, which were guarding both banks of the river. The dock was still properly within Rabona, but barely, and leading up from it was a small stone staircase. It was only accessible via the dock, for all around it were the thick stone walls of an old manor. It loomed more than three stories over the water, its walls being regularly peppered with small arched windows. Around the windows' upper edges there were black marks all over the stones.

Chambord scratched his head, "What happened to this place? It looks like it was hit by a fire. Just look at all the black marks."

Helen smiled, "It was hit by a fire. The same fire that the Angevins helped start. I bought it and re-built it for the army. Alexandra, tie us up!"

Alexandra jumped off the barge while holding a thick rope. This she knotted around a pier, securing the barge's stern to the dock. A few seconds later she secured the barge's bow to the dock via another rope.

Helen gestured to the rectangular wooden crates, "Let's get these documents up to the door. Soon as that's done you two can take the rowboats tied up over there back home."

Chambord grunted as he and Alexandra picked up the one nearer shore.

"I don't know why the army couldn't have put these in crates," Chambord grumbled. "They weigh as much as a fully laden coffin."

Helen's heart skipped a beat before her nerves settled down.

It took a few minutes, but finally her two subordinates had both of the rectangular wooden objects up the stairs and through the front door into the manor's spacious anteroom. It was spacious but bare, lined by stones, with only two thick wooden doors for decoration, and lit only by a pair of wall-mounted lanterns.

"You're free to go and enjoy the evening," Helen told her subordinates.

Alexandra nodded and left immediately, but Chambord lingered even after the door had shut behind Alexandra.

Chambord asked, "Is someone here to help you move these?"

"They will be moved in the morning by someone," Helen stated flatly. "Now go."

Chambord nodded at her dismissal, his eyes pleading for her to reconsider. Helen ignored this and watched him leave through the door back to the dock.

She quickly locked the door to make sure he didn't come back in.

"Is he gone?"

Helen turned to find Alexander Comnenus peeking from behind the room's only other door. Alexander was young and of modest stature, dressed only in simple brown leather shoes, black pants and a puffy white cotton shirt. Despite his obvious youth he already had a prominent widow's peak in his black hair.

"Yes, he's gone, now help me move these," Helen snapped.

They picked up the nearest of the long wooden cratees and managed to get it through the door and onto a table. The manor's interior was now mostly one two-story tall room, which was centered on a stone table. It was lit faintly by several lanterns, and it contained several strange cylindrical metal objects and long metal wires.

They went back for the other crate and laid it out on the table next to the other.

Alexander put on a pair of gloves while asking, "How was their condition?"

Helen growled, "I already told you they were fine apart from being dead."

Alexander gave her a haughty look, "I'll be the judge of that, General. Open this."

Helen resented taking orders from him but suffered it. She grabbed a nearby crowbar, wedged it into the crate, and pushed down hard. The top wrenched free abruptly, nearly hitting Alexander as it jumped off the crate.

Alexander glanced down into the crate, "Remarkable, most remarkable. You said they were not embalmed?"

"We didn't even know what embalming was before the foreigners showed up," Helen pointed out. "Can you do it?"

Alexander glanced up, "We won't know that until I try. Who was this then?"

Helen's heart froze as she looked down on the familiar female face.

"That's Deneve."


	5. Chapter 5: Into the Bengal

**Chapter 5: Into the Bengal**

* * *

**Power Brokers of the Grand Alliance: the Emperors**

By Dr. Shinozaki

_The Grand Alliance throughout much of its history was regarded by its foes as a grand empire under the control of the Dragonkin tribe that only masqueraded as an alliance. The truth is more complicated, for while the Chief of the Dragonkin tribe acted as the de facto ruler of the Grand Alliance, the three human emperors could, if united, veto the Chieftain's orders. The least powerful of these emperors was the Szechwan Emperor, who controlled the Szechwan Empire. Buffeted by being on the border with both the Bengali Empire and the Alliance of Nations, these emperors were often toppled by dynastic rivals when war plans went awry. This constant turmoil took its toll on the power of Szechwan emperors going forward, though even the Dragonkin chief could not afford to entirely ignore a Szechwan emperor's concerns._

_The most powerful of the emperors was the Allemanian emperor, also known as "Der Kaiser" within the Grand Alliance. The Allemanian Empire, or Allemanische Reich, while having fewer people than the Szechwan Empire, possessed more lands and vastly more wealth. Although their lands bordered the Alliance of Nations and later the Romanow Empire, the Allemanian Empire was large enough to avoid being as destabilized by war. This was something the Dragonkin appreciated, even if there was always the threat of coercion in the relationship between the Allemanian Kaiser and the Dragonkin Chieftain. This threat worked both ways; several important Dragonkin breeding grounds were located within the lands of the Allemanische Reich. As a result, this relationship was remarkably stable and business-like. During the years of war, the Hauptburg Dynasty held the throne without interruption._

_The least predictable of the emperors were those who ruled the Osakan Empire. The Osakan Empire was more nautical in nature than the others and was also shielded by the Szechwan Empire from much of the war's devastation. Partly as a result of not feeling an existential threat to their existence as often and their obvious desire for trade, the Osakan emperors often acted as the peace party in the council of emperors. Until Emperor Junichiro came to the throne and reawakened the power of the imperial family, most political power was concentrated in the office of Shogun. After Junichiro's coming to power, this position fell empty most years and when it was filled, it was filled by loyal members of the Funihashi imperial family. With Junichiro's capture however, a large void opened up in Osakan politics._

* * *

"I didn't realize I was doing anything wrong," Dietrich placated.

The short-haired, pale-skinned warrior Alevtina scoffed, "Did you seriously think you were allowed to leave on this mission for one moment without ANY bodyguards?"

Dietrich had barely gotten off the CSS Cesarski in the port city of Krupina when she'd been confronted by no fewer than twenty Silver Guards. They were an intimidating if rather spectacular sight, given how each was armored extensively in unbreakable duratium plate armor. The armor was made from the same metal used in the swords of Organization claymores, so unsurprisingly such an elite group of warriors wearing it made them nearly invincible in hand-to-hand combat against all but the most dangerous foes.

As the Cesarski had pulled into port, Dietrich had made sure she was up on deck taking it all in. She was developing something of a love for sea journeys, despite having two harrowing ordeals while at sea. Every port was like a new adventure, and she lived for adventures. They had sailed into the port city of Krupina, on the far western edge of the mainland. She had seen enough maps to know the only part of the Romanow Empire that lay further west was the Ashen Isles, which were mostly barren, volcanic islands lying off the empire's northwest coast. Krupina itself was a historically Comnenian port city and the gateway to the Republic of Haaraleen and the Kingdom of Breton. Both maritime states lay further west still in the Great Southern Sea and their merchantmen were found all over Krupina's harbor.

Dietrich had seen maps showing that the mainland was so large that the easternmost tip of the Grand Alliance's formed the sea's western edge, while the Romanow Empire formed its eastern edge. The Romanow Empire held the western third of the continent, while the Grand Alliance held the eastern third. Dietrich had heard that the distances of the Great Southern Sea were so great that few but privateers on both sides had crossed it. Dietrich thought that ironic, considering Comnenian sailors had managed to go even greater distances north to reach Toulouse. From that discovery of her homeland, or rather re-discovery had sprung the plans for the Organization.

The portion of the world map that concerned her least was that of the Bengal and the Spice Isles. The Bengal was almost a subcontinent apart from the rest, occupied by a mixture of successor states of the Bengali Empire, the West Bengal Trading Company from the Kingdom of Breton, the Spice Isles Corporation from the Republic of Haaraleen, and the enigmatic Batticaloan Commonwealth. Dietrich had learned all of this and more from Captain Ferrara, who seemed unusually well-educated and anti-superstition for a ship captain. The lands were protected by the Mountains of Fire; peaks so tall they were unrivaled in this world and which had to be crossed in order to reach either the Romanow Empire or the Grand Alliance.

As the CSS Cesarski lumbered into harbor, Krupina at first glance had seemed to be of relative prosperity, with several large urban manors overlooking the substantial, well-protected port from the city's small hills. Innumerable dockworkers were busy upon the piers and quays loading and unloading countless amounts of goods &amp; animals. Guarding it all were two massive, star-shaped fortresses on two hills to either side of the harbor's relatively narrow mouth. Atop each flew the flag of the Romanow Empire, the golden, double-headed eagle on black almost as striking at distance as up close.

Dietrich had an inkling there were some silver-eyed individuals in the city after feeling some faint amounts of Yoma energy. She thus was only mildly surprised to find two entire squads of silver-eyed slayers waiting for her. The only real surprise was the presence of Alevtina, who as a "lady-in-waiting" for the Cesarzowa ought to have been with the imperial couple. Part of her knew from Alevtina being sent that she was in for a scolding. Alevtina, alone amongst the silver-eyed slayers, wore a fashionable gold and white-striped gown with long sleeves.

The crowds had quickly hustled out of the Silver Guards' way when they walked towards her. Captain Ferrara kept a wary eye on them, but didn't move a muscle. Most of his crew on the other hand was of either two minds. Some were fearful, with many near her rushing back, impolitely in Dietrich's opinion, for the perceived safety of the Cesarski. A few braver, more curious souls leaned in to watch from nearby quays.

"Having yourself quite the adventure, Hrabina," Alevtina said in a deadly serious voice. "I can only imagine how concerned you have been at the lack of protection for your person."

Dietrich didn't quite know how to respond, "Well, I wasn't sure if—"

Alevtina folded her arms against her modest frame and continued in a whisper, "You were supposed to be guarded day and night by members of the Silver Guard, Hrabina. The only reason why our warriors were not accompanying you on this journey was because of a dangerous and now corrected mistake. It will not happen again. Your duty was to have informed us immediately if your protection was gone. For now, you'll accompany me to the governor's castle here in Krupina."

A number of Silver Guardsman, whose gender Dietrich could not determine, fanned out around her after Alevtina made her pronouncement. Almost all wore their hair short, and with their other features hidden under armor, it was a tough task for her to pick out male from female. She knew exactly what their presence meant for her going forward.

'Well there goes my freedom. Why is it I when I get a little freedom it comes with risk to my life, then as soon as that's gone I go straight back into a moving, gilded prison?'

A number of horses were brought forward, one of which Dietrich duly mounted. The ride up the largest hill in Krupina, atop which sat the city's picturesque castle. It was certainly not the most impressive structure Dietrich had ever seen. It was a mostly medieval structure, with a thick, 3-story tall outer stone wall protecting a stout central keep. The keep itself no longer matched the walls surrounding it. It had been rebuilt as a more palatial building, with several large arched windows and fine sculptures adorning the place. Atop the keep, as Dietrich had come to expect, was the vibrant gold and black flag of the Romanow Empire.

The group had passed innumerable Imperial Guardsmen on their way in, and Dietrich noticed a few more Silver Guards pacing the grounds.

'Surely they didn't send this many just for me?'

Dietrich knew from experience why the Romanows would be worried about her walking off unguarded. She had, after all, managed to soul-link with the most prominent Romanow of them all. In the process she had experienced quite a few of the Cesarzowa's life memories, which would doubtless give any of her numerous enemies a possibly dangerous insight into her character. Thus Dietrich had been assigned some Silver Guards for protection and safekeeping. Most annoying to her about the whole arrangement was not their constant presence, but the fact that if anything went wrong it was often inferred she had brought it about.

They'd gone up several flights of stairs until at last Dietrich and Alevtina, along with a small coterie of Silver Guards, arrived at the keep's banquet hall. There, seated at the head of the table, was a silver-eyed warrior dressed similarly to Alevtina. She, like Alevtina, was of modest stature, her most noticeable features being her pointy nose, long bangs, and skinny physique. The warrior glanced up from filling out a piece of paper to see Dietrich.

"Hrabina Tuluzy," the warrior addressed her, "I must say I would have preferred to see you under different circumstances."

With scarcely a glance, the silver-eyed lady gave a nod to the Guards, who promptly walked out of the room and out of earshot.

Dietrich frowned, "And you are?"

Dietrich's female peer stood for once, placing both hands upon the great table, "I am Lady Alejandra Flores, Senior Lady-in-Waiting for Her Supreme Imperial Majesty. Is that the report you wrote up on Captain Ferrara's assignment?"

Dietrich followed Alejandra's hand to see Alevtina now holding a several page thick slab of paper in both hands. A quick glance confirmed it was indeed the report Dietrich had meticulously wrote up about the pirate encounter from weeks earlier. It had taken her a good two days to write the report.

"Yes," Dietrich nodded.

Alejandra gestured to her comrade, "Dispose with it."

Alevtina had already ripped it clean in half before Dietrich could do anything. All she could manage was to round on Alejandra in fury.

"I spent two days preparing that report for Her Supreme—"

Alejandra took out several slips of paper, "According to several of the crew, you also spent a better part of two weeks in Captain Ferrara's quarters."

Dietrich's rebuttal died in her mouth. There was nothing she could say, as this accusation had the unfortunate quality of being completely true. Sometime after the sea battle, Dietrich had joined Captain Ferrara for dinner alone. Between his good looks, her copious intake of red wine, her conscious effort to not filter the wine, and Ferrara's entertaining banter, things had become rather intimate. By dinner's end she was topless and riding his manhood with great enthusiasm. It had all been so enjoyable she spent the night, and the night after, and so on until mere days before reaching Krupina. It was in the short period between then and landfall when she had written her report.

Alejandra rounded the nearest corner of the table to walk right up to her, "In all my years, I have never seen such shocking behavior. You were entrusted to objectively write a report about efforts to combat piracy in the Ashen Isles. You were not supposed to compromise the integrity of the imperial crown by shagging the captain while you were at it. I have here no fewer than thirteen eyewitness accounts attesting to seeing you spending at least a night in Captain's Ferrara's quarters. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Dietrich tried to ignore Alevtina's disappointed look at her, "I tried to be honest in my report."

Alejandra snapped, "How honest is this report when you left out the part about shagging the man you were reporting on? You are wasting my time, Hrabina. Clearly we made a mistake thinking you were up to the task. I would have sent a male warrior in your stead had I known how hard it was for you to resist temptation. As it is, I can no longer trust you to carry out the affairs of the Crown. So you will be reassigned to act as an aide for someone else."

The barb about needing to send a male warrior to do the job properly rankled Dietrich badly, and on top of that was the threat to dismiss her from all service to the Crown.

"First of all, my report had almost nothing to do with Captain Ferrara. I was sent to write a report about the pirates attacking our merchantmen, not about a naval captain. Second, if you wish to dismiss me from service to the Crown, then I am under no obligations to stay. So if you don't mind I'll get going back home," Dietrich retorted.

Alejandra seemed to realize her mistake immediately, "Out of the question, Hrabina."

Dietrich snapped, "I am sorry for making one mistake, Lady Flores, but I am not going to sit around and be a virtual prisoner here. I either serve the Crown in some way or I leave."

Alevtina grabbed her arm, imploring, "Come on, Dietrich, there's no need to get melodramatic. I'm sure we can find you a position befitting of your rank."

Dietrich made a realization from Alejandra's title, "She's here, isn't she?"

Dietrich rushed down the nearest stairs, instinct moving her. Alevtina and Alejandra scrambled after her, with nary a Silver Guard nearby to stop anything.

Alevtina shouted after her as Dietrich broke into a jog down a hallway, "Dietrich, come on, be reasonable!"

She nearly bowled over several servers, who semi-miraculously didn't spill a scintilla of the food they were carrying on great circular platters. Dietrich rushed on, with Alevtina and Alejandra trying to catch and stop her. Ordinarily they probably would have caught her, but both had adopted the Cesarzowa's penchant for wearing full-length dresses. Dietrich in contrast had deliberately added slits up the sides of her dresses to allow more freedom of movement. For once it was a choice that was paying off.

Dietrich squinted as she flung open the door to the outdoors. In the shadow of the walls, there were a number of well-tended hedges. It appeared to be a sort of modest castle garden. The air was full of the fresh, invigorating scent of pine needles and lilies. It was just the sort of place that the most powerful person in the world liked to spend her time. Or so Dietrich thought. She did, after all, have a better idea than most as to the personal inclinations of the Cesarzowa.

The garden paths were made of fine red brick, each brick being divided from the others by a small layer of moss. Dietrich could hear the footfall of Alejandra and Alevtina behind her, who undoubtedly were regretting their earlier dismissal of her Silver Guard escort. Dietrich rounded a corner to find an alcove with a simple fountain surrounded by flowers. She heard talking, faint and indistinct, in the distance. Dietrich wheeled to the left 90 degrees and renewed her spirited walk towards the talking.

"That's far enough, Hrabina," a stern female voice interrupted.

Dietrich had only just cleared the narrow opening in a row of hedges when a pair of armored hands grabbed her and brought her to a sudden halt. A dark-skinned, athletically-built female Silver Guard had seized her, the expression on her face both deadly serious and very calm. Dietrich stopped instantly; she knew better than to test the patience of a Silver Guard.

"I'm sorry, Commander Musa," Dietrich nodded, holding perfectly still as Alevtina and Alejandra noisily ran up behind her, "but I urgently need to see Her Supreme Imperial Majesty."

"Unless you're here to bring the Cesarzowa news of war, it will have to wait," Commander Musa rebutted. "Her Supreme Imperial Majesty does not like to be disturbed when she is reading to her godchildren."

Dietrich glanced past Musa's armor to see a few silver-eyed children glancing curiously in their direction. More than a score of silver-eyed children, most of them ranging from three to five years old and all formally dressed in trousers and dresses, were sitting or lying down on the grass not more than a dozen yards away. The children's attention soon drifted back to a strikingly tall silver-eyed woman who was seated upon a simple stone bench.

The woman was of caramel complexion, with large, piercing, beautiful silver eyes, a fine nose, a well-defined jaw, with long, wavy blond hair that flowed down to her bosom. Her lone facial flaw was not of her making; a number, 3141, had been seared onto her left cheek, marring her beauty. Below her neck the woman wore a striking white and black gown that dazzled the eyes with its many patterns and hugged her lean torso. Even sitting it was easily apparent that this was an individual of a statuesque build. Dietrich instantly recognized her as Katarzyna Romanowa.

The Cesarzowa spared Dietrich scarcely a glance before she turned the page of her book and continued to read to her audience of children. Alejandra and Alevtina stopped short behind Dietrich and fell silent.

In a voice so polished Dietrich's attention was immediately drawn from her would-be pursuers, Katarzyna read aloud, "After many, many years of toil and trouble, good King Boleslaw united our great land. For a while all was well as Boleslaw brought great prosperity, happiness and justice for the people. But all was not well, for his greatest knight, Sir Augustyn, and his Queen, the beautiful Domka, were secretly in love with one another. Boleslaw's other knights came to him and told him Domka and Sir Augustyn were betraying him, but Boleslaw refused to believe them."

Dietrich had not heard the tale of good King Boleslaw told, but she was not so ignorant of Comnenian culture to have heard no mention of either.

The children looked on, entranced as Katarzyna made a sweeping motion with one arm as she read, "Then, one day, his master of whispers came to King Boleslaw. He had found a letter from his wife to Sir Augustyn telling of her secret love for him. King Boleslaw's heart was broken. Before the king's men could find him, Sir Augustyn fled into the countryside. However they captured Queen Domka, and put her on trial. King Boleslaw wished to pardon her, but she refused to return to him. The jurors found her guilty of betraying her king; a crime that had only one sentence."

Dietrich wasn't sure this was the sort of story to be telling a bunch of four and five-year olds, but then again none of the children seemed particularly traumatized. Instead they looked on, their faces a mixture of intense curiosity, fear and even a few smiles. A white-haired girl sitting closest to the Cesarzowa seemed particularly taken by the empress' story-telling.

"The good King had no choice but to sentence his wife. On the day her sentence was to be carried out, Sir Augustyn came out of hiding with his men. They slayed any men in their path and rescued the Queen from certain doom before fleeing. Queen Domka and Sir Augustyn fled over the sea to the land of Khaledon, where Sir Augustyn held a great castle. The great families of the kingdom cried out for justice for their fallen, but King Boleslaw hesitated. The great soothsayer of Visegrad had foreseen that should he ever leave his lands by sea, it would be the last he would see of them, and they would never again be as united and prosperous."

Dietrich found herself interested in the tale in spite of her general dislike of fairy tales.

Katarzyna paused dramatically, looking the children in the eye from one side of the clearing to the other, "But despite his doubts, the people demanded justice, and what king would deny his people justice? Boleslaw set sail with a great fleet full of his finest warriors. Two days into their journey they were hit by a great storm, losing several ships, but still they continued on. The king and his men arrived at Castlereagh, the great keep of Sir Augustyn. Upon seeing it, King Boleslaw knew that to take the keep would decimate his army."

The Cesarzowa adjusted her grip on the book and with barely a glance at it continued, "But now, upon seeing the great army and fleet that had come for her, Queen Domka changed her mind. She begged Sir Augustyn not to throw his life and the lives of so many good men away on her behalf. She would go back to King Boleslaw if only it would end the war. Sir Augustyn agreed and asked for a truce with the king. They agreed that so long as no man bared any steel for the next three days, Queen Domka would leave Castlereagh and rejoin her husband."

Dietrich noticed a group of silver-eyed adults dressed in finery rather than armor gathered nearby looking on contentedly. They were standing some distance to the Cesarzowa's left alongside a few Silver Guards chatting quietly amongst themselves.

'Those must be some of the parents of the godchildren', Dietrich thought.

The Cesarzowa paid them no mind and continued her dramatic reading, "But during the final hour of the final day before the Queen would come forth, one of Boleslaw's knights felt a jab in his leg. A snake had bit him, and on instinct he drew his blade and killed the snake. One of Sir Augustyn's men saw this and loosed a bolt, killing the knight. Boleslaw's men felt betrayed and attacked the castle with all their might. For day and night the battle raged, until King Boleslaw and Sir Augustyn fought each other in the castle courtyard. The king struck down Sir Augustyn, but he was badly wounded. There was scarcely anyone left alive to tend to him due to the battle's toll. As he lay dying, Queen Domka came to him and asked forgiveness, and he pardoned her. A sudden mist fell over the quietening field of battle…"

The children were silent as a tomb now as the Cesarzowa quietly continued, "The lady of the mists had returned. She put King Boleslaw and his knights into a deep slumber and brought them back to Comnenia. There she put them to rest in a great cavern in the mountain of Giewont. There they would lie, just beyond death, until someone awakened them again to once more ride forth to protect the nation. As for Queen Domka, she was horrified at what she had wrought and became a nun to atone for her sins for the rest of her days. It is said when she was very old she came to Giewont to join her husband in slumber, and there she lies today, undisturbed, awaiting a hero to call forth Boleslaw and his knights into action once more. But once they ride forth for the nation again, they will never return."

The Cesarzowa closed shut the book with a dramatic "whap".

The white-haired girl at her feet exclaimed, "Can we hear another one? Please?!"

The silver-eyed empress patted the curly-haired girl on the head, "Now, now, Chloe, you'll get to hear another story next week alongside everyone else. Did everyone enjoy the story?"

"Yes, Cesarzowa," the children said in a refrain, although the enthusiasm seemed to vary substantially amongst the children.

Dietrich was a bit perplexed at what she had just seen.

'Why in the world is the most powerful ruler in the world reading to her godchildren? Doesn't she have better things to do?'

Katarzyna Romanowa stood up to her full height, towering over the silver-eyed children arranged around her. A Silver Guard took the thin book from which the Cesarzowa had been reading from her outstretched hand. The children got up only after the Cesarzowa motioned for them to rise. Two dark-skinned boys who could not have been more than four years old came forward and gave the Cesarzowa a bouquet of flowers.

Katarzyna Romanowa gave them both a smile, "That was very sweet of you, Didier and Jama. I will be sure to put them on display where no one can miss them."

The boys sheepishly smiled and then walked backwards, as if unsure of how to act. They looked over to a dark-skinned silver-eyed nobleman nearby as if looking for directions. He made a motion with one hand and the two boys on cue made deep bows.

"Thank you, Cesarzowa," they replied, albeit not with much confidence.

The Cesarzowa looked over towards the noblemen and then announced, "It's been a delight having you all back again this week for another story. I see your parents are waiting to see you again, so run along and join them. We'll see each other again next week."

Dozens of the children hurriedly rushed over to rejoin their parents, but about ten of them didn't move, Chloe foremost among them.

Chloe gently tugged on the Cesarzowa's dress, "Cesarzowa, my Papa isn't here."

Katarzyna knelt down, "I'm sorry, dears, I almost forgot. Your parents will be back just as soon as they can. Your tutors will be waiting for you. Lady Nevsky will take you back to them now, so don't worry."

Dietrich glanced back to find Alevtina looking a little surprised at first before composing herself once more.

Alevtina came forward and made a slight bow of her head, "Would everyone please follow me?"

The children lined up and one by one followed Alevtina whence Dietrich had come. All except for Chloe, who was half-heartedly walking after the group while looking rather forlornly back towards the Cesarzowa.

"It's alright, dear," the Cesarzowa assured, "you'll see me again soon enough."

Katarzyna Romanowa gave the girl a light push on the back and Chloe finally raced past Dietrich, Commander Musa and Alejandra to rejoin her peers. Dietrich watched Chloe disappear from view walking around a hedge and turned around to find a less-than-amused looking empress.

The Cesarzowa pursed her lips and clasped her hands as she walked forward towards the three of them, "I trust you have your report ready, Hrabina?"

Alejandra began to look very uncomfortable, "Your Grace, you see…"

The empress snapped quite loudly, "What I would like to see, Lady Flores, is a report on the expedition undertaken by Hrabina Tuluzy with all necessary edits. Where is the report?"

Dietrich had never seen someone unravel quite so rapidly as Alejandra, "Your Grace, I was under the impression that given the Hrabina's indiscretions you had—"

"You were told to follow my instructions, Lady Flores," Katarzyna Romanowa angrily reproached her subordinate. "I did not give you leave to toss the entire report over the Hrabina's indiscretions, however unseemly. I want the two of you to work together to have an edited report on my desk by tomorrow evening. Is that clear to both of you?"

Dietrich joined Alejandra in replying curtly, "Of course, Your Grace."

The empress walked off with Commander Musa following, leaving Dietrich and a shaken Alejandra behind to ponder what had just happened. Dietrich had never seen someone so quickly move from incredible charm to instilling fear before. With ability like that, it was little wonder the Cesarzowa had been a spectacular motivator of her troops.

'I guess that's why she's an empress and I'm not,' Dietrich thought to herself.

* * *

"I thought you would be happy," her husband stammered.

Claire got up and scowled at her husband, "When did I say I ever wanted to work for the Reine, Raki?"

Raki had come back to the Romanow Embassy looking very pleased with himself. Andrei and Audrey had allowed Claire and her children to move into an unused suite of rooms in the embassy's central tower. Teresa and Victor seemed to be having the time of their lives playing with young Andrei Jr. and also getting occasional attention from Audrey as well. Her youngest child, Dominique, also seemed to take the transition in stride, but had developed a worrying interest in crawling towards the tower's stairways. Thus she had had to be watching him constantly if the door to the suite was opened.

Raki had walked in whilst playfully holding Teresa upside down, which had not thrilled Claire. The girl was already rambunctious enough; she didn't need her father encouraging her with horseplay. Teresa had run off and Dominique was asleep in the nursery room next door when Raki had dropped the bombshell about her next potential employer.

Raki, still dressed in his formal best, seemed at a loss, "Claire, this is a fantastic offer. It's everything we could ever want."

Claire grabbed the contract off the dining room table and held it up, "I am not apologizing to the Reine. I don't care what she's offering; I am not going to go back on my knees to her after what happened to Teresa."

Raki finally lost his temper, "Why don't you throw Teresa's future in the fire while you're at it, Claire?! You know damn well that was the second time Teresa slid down a bannister that week. You and Miria had a big disagreement right before that, and you wrongly took it out on her adopted daughter when you flung her out of our house. Natalie did not get Teresa hurt; Teresa got herself hurt."

Raki caught her by surprise and swiped the contract right out of her hand and strode angrily to the door, "I am not taking my signature off this contract, so you're just going to have to deal with it."

Raki opened the door, during which time Claire grabbed the nearest glass on the table and flung it at him. Raki managed to shut the door just in time for the glass to smash itself to bits against the beautifully varnished oak door.

Claire heard Raki walk off, and almost instantly began to regret throwing the glass at her husband. She had just about finished cleaning up all the glass with a broom and dustbin when she heard a man's footsteps outside the door.

"I'm not in the mood to talk, Raki," Claire growled, her temper still not entirely gone.

"Claire, it's Andrei," a deep male voice interrupted.

Claire unlocked the door to find the Romanow ambassador peering in with a look of concern upon his face.

"Sorry you had to hear that," Claire apologized, "we had a little argument earlier."

"So I gather," Andrei replied, "May I come in?"

"Oh, well, of course you can come in, it's your home after all," Claire sighed.

She had always found Andrei's presence to be very soothing. He walked in with scarcely a sound, the only noise being when the door closed shut.

Claire swept the last of the broken glass into the dustbin and tossed it into a trashbin before turning to find Andrei leaning back against the table, arms folded, and his face full of concern.

He was wearing an outfit colored black and trimmed in gold, only his vest lacked the puffy sleeves the Roi and so many men in Rabona seemed to find fashionable. A pair of short black, silver-buckle boots covered his feet, while above that he wore a pair of fine, satin black trousers lined in gold. Andrei Tuluzy certainly looked the part of an ambassador, and his hair and goatee were just as well trimmed as he was well-dressed.

Andrei sighed, "What's happened, Claire?"

Claire hesitated to talk, given she normally only confided to his wife, Audrey, the former number 3 of the Organization. Part of her though suspected that Audrey probably also talked to her husband about at least a few things she and Audrey had spoken of in earlier gatherings.

Andrei noted her silent pause, "Judging by the broken glass and the way your husband left, I can hazard a guess."

Claire felt distinctly uncomfortable with Andrei figuring out just what had happened between her and Raki. She didn't feel particularly proud of what she had just done, but then again she hadn't anticipated someone besides Raki understanding what was going on.

Andrei rubbed his nose before continuing, "I know things can be difficult in any marriage, Claire, but please, don't look to my wife's advice on marital problems, Claire."

Claire blinked, "I…"

Andrei put his hands down on the table, "I love my wife, Claire, but she does not know how to make good decisions when it comes to relationships. I once made the mistake of merely glancing at another woman. She spent the whole next week pleading with me to not leave her when it had never entered my mind. I found out later she'd also spent that entire week writing letters full of death threats to the woman. I told my wife if she kept doing that she could go find herself a new husband. She hasn't done anything like that since to my knowledge, but I've never forgotten it either."

"Oh," was all Claire managed.

Audrey certainly could act nice when she wanted to, but Claire had noticed her friend had a nasty streak when it came to other females she found threateningly attractive like Miata.

The Romanow ambassador sighed, "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

A feeling of gratitude quite unlike the aggravation she'd been feeling towards him earlier came over Claire as she heard Andrei assume the violent one had been Raki.

"No, he was just taking out his anger by throwing a glass at the door," Claire stated.

For a moment she was disconcerted that she had just played along to Andrei's assumptions about Raki being the violent one. Yet the dominant feeling that washed over her was relief, not unease.

Andrei crossed his arms, "I'd come up to your suite because I had an offer I'd like to make to the two of you. I suppose however that now wouldn't be the best time."

"Andrei, wait," Claire gasped, catching his arm before he got to the door. "You can make your offer to me, and later I can patch things up with my husband before telling him. He'll be busy the rest of the day with his work in the Parlement."

Andrei turned back to Claire, "I'd like to betroth your daughter Teresa to my eldest son."

Claire wasn't certain whether she was more shocked or more delighted by Andrei's offer. There certainly was no lack of silver-eyed females waiting back on the mainland that Andrei could have selected a future wife from for his eldest son.

"I could not be more honored," Claire gushed, "I'm sure Raki will be just as thrilled to hear of it. We would be delighted to share grandchildren with you and Audrey."

Andrei managed a grin, "Well I am glad our offer is to your liking. Audrey and I already agreed that it would be insulting to ask for a dowry. I congratulate you on the recent offer as well from the Reine. It could not happen to a more deserving silver-eyed lady."

Claire was momentarily so surprised at this sudden change in topic that she did not immediately reach out to shake the ambassador's hand. When he was left grasping thin air for a second Claire rushed to shake his hand. Andrei gave a firm handshake, but for some reason she felt some unease.

Andrei, as he was wont, instantly picked up on her mood, "Is something wrong?"

Claire confessed, "I did not realize that was public knowledge."

Andrei quickly recovered, "Oh well I had heard it mentioned by several of your silver-eyed peers, as did Audrey. As I said, it is an offer that you—"

"I'm not taking the offer," Claire harrumphed, folding her arms in indignation.

Andrei surprised her by immediately interjecting, "Claire, you must accept."

Claire blinked in disbelief, "Why?!"

* * *

"All those in favor of the Loi de réforme gouvernementale, please raise your hands," the gray-haired Speaker of Parlement announced.

Raki had returned to work as a way to get himself away from Claire after yet another one of their all too regular spats. He had taken his seat in the far end of the Parlement's main chamber and almost immediately introduced the bill that Reine Miria had requested, and surprisingly it was immediately approved by his committee and rushed to a vote by the full Parlement.

The elderly Speaker sat in the Speaker's throne, an elegant wood &amp; red velvet-backed chair which was located at the far end of the main chamber of the Parlement. Arraigned around the main green-carpeted floor were the u-shaped benches. They were laid out like in a theater, with each row further out being higher out, giving the chamber a bowl-like feeling. Up above, separated by over 2 stories of elevation, were the gallery seats in which several members of the public sat, looking on with some interest. Raki noticed now however that there were armored guards in both the front row and the back aisle.

Raki felt a nudge against his shoulder, "Are you going to forget to raise your hand for your own bill?"

He turned to find a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and green eyes looking at him rather intently, along with some twenty other members of the Parlement. They all had their hands raised, as did the man who had interrupted him.

"Of course I will, Mitterrand," Raki curtly replied.

He raised his hand and looked about the chamber.

"I see Gaspar Galacon's faction is not much in favor," Mitterrand murmured.

Raki followed Mitterrand's gaze to the right to see a large, well-dressed man who looked very similar to his older brother, Francois Galacon, the man Raki had long known as "Galk". Seated around him were over fifty other MPs, all but a handful of whom were not voting for the measure. The Speaker and his assistants barely spent more than a few moments counting hands amongst Gaspar's faction.

"Well, well, would you look at that," Raki murmured, "Talleyrand's voting for it."

Talleyrand was a slim, bespectacled balding man seated beside Gaspar, and was rather casually dressed compared to his younger, more handsome colleague. Raki sometimes wondered how in the world the two men had grown close enough to form a faction together.

Mitterrand shifted his gaze and remarked, "Gaspar's deputy is voting against him? Ha! I thought all those hardline Orthodox types would go against it. There's hope yet that they'll splinter before the worst transpires."

Gaspar Raki noticed was looking over at Talleyrand with an air of annoyance.

"Don't get your hopes up yet," Raki sighed, "Ruud van Willems is still losing strength. Another two members left his faction this week for Gaspar's. He barely has a large enough majority to control the government."

Mitterrand folded his arms after the Speaker counted his hand and harrumphed, "What do you expect? The Parlement's security was so lax our Reine was shot right in this very chamber seated upon the Diamond Throne! It's only a matter of time, and then—"

"We're not going to take over the government, Louis," Raki interjected. There's over fifty of them, fewer than thirty of us, and all but one of van Willems' defectors have gone to join Gaspar's faction. The best we can hope for is Gaspar doesn't win an outright majority at the next election."

Mitterrand practically hissed in contempt, "Damn bastard still wants to force all Triarchiste temples to register with the government. Next thing you know he'll be demanding all of us start wearing badges."

Raki followed the progression of the vote and interjected, "The van Willems' are voting for the bill."

Ruud van Willems and his son Hans were seated to the Speaker's left, opposite Gaspar &amp; Talleyrand. Both father and son had their hands raised, which led to some belated raising of hands amongst their faction of supporters. The Speaker continued visibly counting the raised hands until finally he waved them down.

"All those who are against adoption of the bill, raise your hands," the Speaker announced in his gravelly voice.

A host of hands went up amongst Gaspar's faction to the Speaker's left, as did a small number amongst the van Willems' faction.

"I'm surprised the van Willems' voted for it," Mitterrand commented wryly, "Ruud is always going on about the dangers of the monarchy becoming too powerful."

The Speaker made rather more rapid progress now as he counted the votes against the measure Raki noticed. A part of him felt tremendously relieved.

"He also doesn't like it when the military feels they're not accountable to him either," Raki pointed out, "and they will be once this bill becomes law."

The Speaker finished counting the no votes and began conferring with his 3 aides while furiously scribbling on several pieces of paper.

Mitterrand shrugged before remarking, "Raki, we need to bring up the Mucha situation with the Premier."

"Oh for the sake of the Gods, Louis, not that again," Raki groaned.

"Yes, THAT again," Louis snapped. "The situation is bloody ridiculous, Raki. You know full well we did a survey last month of both Alphonse and Mucha, and they found three times the number of people in the south as in the north. Yet we have only one more representative in the Parlement for all of the southern lands compared to the north. People are upset and worse; they feel Rabona isn't listening to them. The people in my district did not join the Kingdom of Toulouse to see the Premier deny them an equal vote so that his business cronies could be overrepresented. We need a census and voting reform, and if van Willems won't change, then maybe we should let him fall."

Raki, exasperated, snapped, "And the moment he does Gaspar Galacon will be in power ensuring that all of our loved ones have to publicly identify themselves as potentially traitorous Triarchiste. You can't have what you want without Gaspar gaining power, Louis. It's just not possible."

Mitterrand got up stiffly in his black-and-white outfit, dusted his sleeves off, and left while saying, "I trust in our Reine enough to risk it; maybe you should do the same, Raki."

Raki and a number of his like-minded fellows watched Louis walk to the aisle and then disappear behind the main door.

The Speaker loudly interrupted, "With a vote of 83-64, the Parlement has approved the measure proposed by Monsieur Lautrec. Are there any further proposals or motions?"

Raki noticed hawk-nosed Ruud van Willems stand up, "Votre Honneur, I motion to adjourn the Parlement for one week."

The Speaker cleared his throat before asking, "Is there a second?"

Hans van Willems stood up next to his father and nodded, "Oui."

"All those in favor?"

Raki heard a chorus of "oui" ring out.

The Speaker waited a moment before asking, "All those opposed?"

No one said a word this time.

The Speaker loudly smacked his gavel down upon his armrest, "Motion is approved and the Parlement is adjourned until next week. Till then, gentlemen."

The old man had to be helped to his feet by two of his younger male assistants, who then also helped him as he clumsily walked with a cane to the door. It was when he looked left that Raki noticed the van Willems approach.

"Oh boy," Raki muttered.

"You picked a hell of a surprise to spring on me, Lautrec," Ruud van Willems sniffed.

Ruud van Willems was not as tall as "Galk" or his Galk's brother Gaspar, but he was certainly not a man without a certain gravitas. His prominent hawkish nose and deep voice gave him a certain aura of authority that most in the Parlement lacked, while his impeccable style marked him apart from many peers in Raki's opinion. His son Hans in contrast looked rather less intimidating, but Raki thought that was perhaps due to his youth.

"You voted for it," Raki noted while standing up to shake the Premier's hand.

"I did, but only due to extenuating circumstances," Ruud commented while shaking Raki's hand, throwing a look at his son.

'Ah, so he wasn't expecting his son to force his hand on that,' Raki thought.

Raki's like-minded colleagues were walking out of the chamber, affording the three of them a more private conversation.

Ruud van Willems crossed his arms, "I hear congratulations are in order, Raki. It seems our beloved Reine was so concerned for her safety she has offered your wife a most esteemed position. I can only imagine the pay matches it. I'm sure the royals are almost as pleased as your family."

Raki bit his lip before curtly replying, "It's a bit much for you to go subtly accusing me of taking a bribe in exchange for legislation when my wife hasn't even accepted the position."

Ruud scoffed, "The royals offer your wife an incredibly well-paid position and you expect me to believe that you introduced a bill increasing their power mere days later out of nothing but the goodness of your heart."

Ruud van Willems emphasized the point by prodding him with a finger to his chest. Raki knocked it aside from a quick swat of his left hand.

Raki fired back, "Says a man who claims he fights for democracy, yet won't call for a new census because he's afraid his allies would lose votes."

Ruud didn't bat an eye with his justification, "There are some fools who should not be trusted with the franchise, as you should well know from interacting with your constituents. You say your wife has not accepted, yet I saw her talking with our Roi and Ambassadeur Tuluzy just an hour ago after signing something. I have no doubt the Reine did not offer you anything as clumsy as an outright bribe. She probably gave you an eyeful of cleavage all while dangling a plum position for your wife in front of your nose. It was only afterwards that she mentioned a bill that might address a grave concern of hers; something that you could propose to the Parlement where she could not. And what honorable gentleman could dare refuse his most gracious and beautiful Reine making such a worthy proposal?"

Raki felt a ripple of unease run through his stomach at Ruud van Willems' remarkably close estimation of what had happened earlier at the royal palace. He noticed that Hans looked distinctly uncomfortable at this turn in conversation.

"Père, shouldn't we be—"

Ruud snapped at his son, "Hans now is not the time for your foolish interjections."

Raki tried to offer a justification for his actions, "You keep saying you want the military to accept orders from the Parlement. This law will put you in charge of the entire government, including the army."

Ruud van Willems snapped, "It was this Parlement that anointed her Reine at your behest, Lautrec."

"Only after she stopped an attempted coup against this Parlement," Raki shot back.

"Something she could very well have staged for her own benefit," Ruud cynically pointed out. "This country's stability and prosperity rests on its Parlement being the supreme law of the land, and now you have just granted the monarchy the power to appoint the Premier and the right to call new elections at any time. This is a dangerous path you've started us down, Raki, and speaking of danger, you would do well to remind your wife that her friends are agents of a foreign government."

Ruud van Willems walked off in a huff, but surprisingly did not notice that his son had not tagged along as he left through the Parlement chamber's rear entrance.

Raki dryly remarked, "I see you two have a great father-son relationship."

Hans surprised him, merely chuckling by way of an initial reply. Hans van Willems was young; younger even than Raki himself by a good five years in Raki's estimation. He shared his father's black hair, though his nose was less hawkish, his eyes wider set, and he had a slimmer frame. Whereas Ruud van Willems had his straight hair cut long enough to just barely touch his shoulders, Hans kept his curlier hair short, the only styling being his long, split bangs. Hans was much more handsome than his father, though his youth certainly helped. Both men however dressed like dandies in outfits of black and white, with big, striped bulges of fabric decorating their shoulders.

"In case you're wondering, you weren't the only one to get the treatment from the Reine," Hans casually remarked.

Raki scowled, "You mean your Père was—"

Hans confirmed, "Papa didn't take it well."

Raki folded his arms in dismay and asked, "So then what position did they offer to Helen?"

The smile on Hans' face died almost immediately upon mentioning Ruud van Willems' infamous paramour. Raki regretted saying her name at all almost as quickly as Hans' smile had disappeared.

"No position was offered to Helen," Hans hissed, clearly aggravated.

"I see," was all Raki could manage.

'So a position was offered for Hans', Raki thought.

"How are things at home with you?"

Hans van Willems wiggled his lips for a few choice seconds before almost casually remarking, "About as tolerable as a whore walking in through your front door, but I manage."

It was not the analogy most men would have made about tolerating someone they didn't like, but then again Hans van Willems was not a man of the lower classes. Raki took a deep breath when he realized what he'd accidentally stumbled into a conversation about with Ruud's son. Hans was the eldest son of Ruud's late wife; a wife who Raki belatedly remembered had tragically died confronting Helen &amp; Ruud about their affair. She had died of arrows meant to kill Helen, which was as bitterly ironic a fate as any Raki could imagine. Helen had supposedly broken things off afterwards, but it was no great shock to hear that the relationship had reignited.

"That must be difficult, living with Helen I mean," Raki admitted. "Sorry, I didn't mean this conversation to be so painful for you. Did you wish to talk about something else?"

"You didn't have to ask," Hans remarked, leading Raki to flinch.

"I love my Papa, but even I know Papa won't be able to hold off Gaspar forever," Hans admitted with surprising candor while holding out his arms. "It will take a great deal of effort to win power back from Gaspar's faction, especially if Violetta tries to put her pretender son back on our throne. That goes especially if we win the war while Gaspar is in power. You're soon going to come into a great deal of money, and I happen to have a proposal that could make Gaspar's life a lot harder. All I need is a financial backer."

* * *

Dietrich let out a long breath, as she was now in her second hour of waiting outside the imperial family's chambers in Krupina. She had gotten the report painstakingly put back together only to arrive outside an antechamber with large, ornate doors to the empress' quarters and be told the Cesarzowa was too busy to see her yet. If anyone else had kept her waiting this long she would have ordinarily have barged in, but she knew that were no fewer than six silver-eyed guards behind the doors.

'It must be nice to be an empress,' Dietrich thought.

"I'm sure she'll like the report," Dietrich murmured to reassure herself.

There came a loud interruption, "We can only hope she likes the report, if that is possible given its source."

Dietrich looked over at her straight-haired and rather petite silver-eyed peer, Alevtina, with whom she was waiting, with a mixture of anger and annoyance.

Dietrich sarcastically retorted, "I hear the Cesarzowa especially likes reports that arrive late due to rash decision-making."

"The Cesarzowa was not exactly pleased at your lack of upstanding morals during your sea voyage, Hrabina," Alejandra not so subtly reminded.

The last thing Dietrich wanted to deal with was a judgmental silver-eyed peer who looked upon a female slayer having a little fun as an opportunity to slut-shame her. It was particularly aggravating given that the Cesarzowa was no saint in this area.

"Well I'm sorry I can't have those upstanding morals that led you to rip the report we just spent the last 3 days putting back together. I have news for you, Alejandra. Even your beloved Cesarzowa has engaged in some premarital relations that—"

"You would be well-advised to put a foot in your damn mouth," Alejandra snapped.

Dietrich duly did so, but not before casting an annoyed look at her green dress-clad nemesis and walking off a short ways. A look around revealed a relatively austere interior, with minimal woodwork on the white-painted stone walls, modest chandeliers hanging from the arched white stone ceiling, and small rectangular stained glass windows letting in light. Only the beautiful color mosaic floor hinted at the wealth of the family that controlled the castle.

'Well likely once controlled the castle,' Dietrich mentally corrected herself.

Dietrich remembered well that not all of the nobles and royalty who once controlled the Alliance of Nations were dead or in exile. Some, like the lone surviving royal Emir Maktoum, had cooperated with the Allied Army when it made its coup against the royals it judged unworthy of leading it. With the Allied Army nominally under her control, Katarzyna Romanowa unexpectedly proclaimed herself empress of a new empire. The Army wholeheartedly backed their heroine, allowing her to annihilate the innumerable small noble-led rebellions against her in mere months. That had left many manors and lands vacant, though Dietrich doubted that could last long.

The noise of approaching footfall behind them caused them both to turn. There was a murmur of conversation filtering in from the end of the hall. A single dark-skinned female Silver Guard in full armor rounded the corner. Moments later, a trio of figures rounded the same corner, one of whom was wearing a very distinctive diamond-encrusted black-and-gold hat. A nearly opaque veil covered the woman's face, the only thing being discernable was her piercing silver eyes. It took Dietrich no time at all to recognize the empress in one of her typical black and gold gowns. Her male guests on the other hand were men Dietrich had never seen before.

"I am very anxious to return to home," said the man in a curious foreign accent.

He was half a head shorter than the Cesarzowa and walking to her left, and had thick but short black hair. He wore an elegant black robe with loose sleeves that dropped down all the way to his ankles, which were covered in white silk socks. He was also wearing a pair of equally fine light brown sandals. The man walking to his left was portlier, with a thick paunch visible through his clothes, which were a much flashier set of red and golden-flowered robes. These covered him all the way down to his feet, though surprisingly he walked as well as any woman did in a long dress. He had a double chin which was partly hidden under a thick beard, but had large eyes, unlike the other man, whose eyes did not open very wide.

"Negotiations are on-going, Emperor," the Cesarzowa offered as way of reply, gesturing forward towards Dietrich and Alejandra. "A number of my soldiers still have not been freed."

Something about the Cesarzowa's voice sounded off, but Dietrich wasn't sure why.

'So her "guests" are the captive emperors', Dietrich thought to herself. 'The 2 Grand Alliance emperors she captured after the Battle of Liberec. This last year must have been a distressing reversal for them. I can't believe the Organization was destroying parts of Toulouse just to stop these two.'

The 2 emperors had gone from potentially triumphing at Liberec to being captured and reduced to bargaining chips in the negotiated peace that had followed their defeat.

'But if they're bargaining chips, why are they still here? They represent 2 of the 3 human empires in the Grand Alliance!'

The imperial party was now not more than thirty paces away, and Dietrich could see from the corner of her eye that Alejandra watching the party with great interest.

"Common men's lives are not worthy of an exchange for a Tenno, let alone 2," the thin emperor declared with confidence.

Dietrich was not impressed, 'Ha, the pride of an emperor!'

The Cesarzowa clasped her hands and explained with great care, "Kaiser Friedrich has also refused to release all 151 captive silver-eyed warriors. I do not consider them unworthy of an exchange for 2 emperors. Should he change his mind, your Imperial Majesties will be free, Cesarzow Junichiro. No doubt the Osakan Empire is very anxious to see your return, much like the Szechwan Empire is very anxious to see your return, Cesarzow Mianning."

Junichiro's reaction was not what Dietrich had expected, "There's something different about you today, Cesarzowa."

"I have not changed," the Cesarzowa countered.

"There it is again," Emperor Junichiro commented, staring intently at the Cesarzowa's veil, which was almost sheer enough to not see her face. "Your accent has changed, your gait, your mannerisms. You are NOT the Cesarzowa, are you?"

The accused quietly countered, "You are mistaken, Tenno."

Emperor Junichiro snarled, "We may be captives, but even a captive emperor should not be deceived in such a way. I will credit your mimicking ability; it was quite good, but you neither move like Katarzyna Romanowa nor speak in quite the same manner. I will remember this insult to my person when I return to my country, I promise you. Come, Mianning, let us return to our quarters. We will speak to the Cesarzowa or no one."

Surprisingly the black-gowned woman hardly batted an eye, "A shame we could not part on better terms. Give my regards to your brother, Tenno. I hear he has just proclaimed himself emperor due to your long absence."

The 2 Siyamese-looking emperors did not bother to reply and departed in a huff, a pair of Silver Guards tailing them, though Dietrich could have sworn that the fatter Mianning looked rather surprised at the turn of events. They soon disappeared around a corner, with the slam of a door following shortly afterwards.

Dietrich turned to find the black-gowned woman practically upon them already, with only a single light-skinned female Silver Guard standing watch behind her.

Alejandra offered the woman a large smile, "Hrabina Marina, I see the world is still treating you as unkindly as ever."

The woman took off her ridiculously-sized black hat to reveal a silver-eyed woman with an aquiline nose, long wavy hair and fair skin. She did have a passing resemblance to the Cesarzowa in height, hair and aquiline nose, but lacked the empress' caramel skin, the branded wound upon one cheek of her face, or her piercing eyes.

"Good morning, Lady Flores," Marina replied, "and to you as well, Hrabina Tuluzy. It's been some time since we last met."

Dietrich paused in surprise.

Marina offered her a brilliant white smile, "Oh don't be bashful; I'm talking of when you first arrived in Visegrad on behalf of Cesarzow Wenceslaus. You did not seriously think the Cesarzowa could meet you in one guise and then reappear in another within minutes, did you?"

Dietrich "You mean that was you disguised as the Cesarzowa when I first arrived in Visegrad?"

"Of course I was," Marina confided. "I've acted as the Cesarzowa's body double for several years now. Her Imperial Majesty has many enemies, and I gladly risk my life for her. Anyone who has come from dirt to empress, as the saying goes, is someone you should follow."

Alejandra flashed an annoyed look at Marina and started speaking in a quick tongue, "Ella no se levantó de la tierra. Su padre era el nieto de un rey comneno."

Marina scoffed and translated this partly into Comnenian, "Yes, her father was the grandson of a Comnenian king, but he was also a bastard. Under the rules of succession, her family line's right to the throne should have ended with the Cesarzowa's grandmother, Augustyna. As I said, she rose from the dirt to empress."

Dietrich interrupted the argument, "What happened to her father?"

Before she could get an answer, the sound of armored footsteps interrupted all of them. Dietrich turned to see a dark-skinned member of the Silver Guard come striding up to them, the only other armored Silver Guardswoman immediately saluting.

Marina turned to face the arrival, "Commander Musa, what do you need?"

"Hrabina Marina, you'll need to leave this hallway and get out of sight. The Bretonese ambassador will here in a minute. If you would come with me…"

Without another word Marina was rushed away, her gown billowing as she walked off with the Silver Guard Commander. The two went down a dark side hallway, and quickly rounded a corner before disappearing from sight.

'I wonder if that mistake about leaving me unguarded is affecting Commander Musa?'

The thought died within seconds, as Dietrich heard footfall from the opposite direction.

A middle-aged, bespectacled man appeared escorted by two younger men, who Dietrich judged to be his aides. He wore all black except for his white tights, his fashion being distinguished by the puffy shoulders, tight trousers and silver buckle shoes. His elegant fashion stood in contrast to his short and curly gray hair. His face was a mask, betraying nary an emotion as he approached.

Alejandra took a few steps forward, "Dzień dobry, Lord Ambassador Harper. What an unexpected surprise. I was waiting for an audience with the Imperial Council. You are here to request an audience with them as well I take it?"

Harper came to a halt before Alejandra, over whom he towered half a head taller, and in a restrained but firm voice, declared, "Lady Flores, I must see the Cesarzowa immediately."

Alejandra seemed taken aback to Dietrich, "You must see Her Supreme Imperial Majesty immediately? May I ask why?"

Harper quickly countered, "May I ask why there is a Romanowan army invading the Bengal as we speak?"


End file.
